


Trassia Barnes And The Mirror Of Light

by DevonTomatoCat



Series: The Trassia Barnes Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Duelling, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, London, Magic, Multi, Other, Rufus Mooney - Freeform, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans rights, Trassia Barnes - Freeform, Travis Noble, Vampires, Wands, Witch - Freeform, Wizard, changer - Freeform, hermione granger - Freeform, ron weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 93,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevonTomatoCat/pseuds/DevonTomatoCat
Summary: Travis Noble was born a man, but never felt truly comfortable in his own skin until his tenth birthday, when he unlocked his hidden talents. Travis is a Changer: Shifting gender at will, he can change from a wizard to a witch, becoming Trassia Barnes. The world feels more whole this way.The current minister for magic doesn't approve of changers, or anyone that takes any shape other than their born form. In the wake of a violent outburst, magical adjustments have been outlawed. Anyone found to have anything as minor as touch-ups are hunted down and "corrected" by the department of magical law enforcement.In the magical world, miracles happen every day, but not all of them are good. Trassia can only hide for so long before the truth comes out. Where do you go when you're made to feel unwanted? What do you do when the world says you're an abomination just for being born different?
Series: The Trassia Barnes Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823785
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	1. Begin Again

Maybe in some folds of the eternally mysterious space and time, there is a place where wonders form the perfect culmination of happenstance and fate, that events take this shape. Maybe, that is, if hope is strong enough. One can always hope. The future is never a straight course. It is only what one makes of it.

Time had changed many things. It didn’t just age the world. In many ways, wizarding never truly changed- it was still, at its deepest heart, magic. Magic never became less miraculous. It was people that changed. Society grows and mutates as the world becomes accustomed to the newer footprints of mightier titans than those that walked before. Rules became more complicated. It was a never-ending cycle. An end is only a new beginning.

Before a beginning, however, there was always a building of shadows and the moving of pieces behind the scenes. New ventures took time to form in the cosmic tides. After a time, newspapers reporting the fall of the dark lord slowly collected dust. It was the nature of things. Peace was very easily better than strife. It was less interesting, but there tended to be less casualties.

An article flashed about here and there as a newspaper was lazily leafed through. A large man with tattooed arms thick as tree trunks read through it leisurely from the comfort of a cheap, wooden chair. Strawberry-blond hair matched a bushy moustache. Over across a busy department store, a woman browsed through various robes and other magical apparel. Long, black hair cascaded down in waves as it framed a Korean face.

‘Ye gods,’ uttered the man, ‘I’m glad we live in the muggle world. ‘Ave you seen the ‘eadlines?’

The woman only shook her head and offered a sweet smile as she loaded an arm with garments. ‘Trying on clothes, now,’ she replied in a thick accent, then knelt down to a small child at her side. ‘I’ll just be a minute. Stay here.’

Big blue eyes watched her as the little boy nodded.

Naturally, the man continued on anyway. ‘Now they’re sayin’ Black Kandal’s gang’s gone into ‘idin’.’ A thick Manchester accent boomed with every syllable.

‘Safer for us, then,’ the change room stall called back.

Down a little closer to the floor, a child glanced around their new, open surroundings.

‘“It’s not an if but a when he resurfaces”, says auror ‘Arry Potter, age thirty-seven. Blazes, he still looks seven-bloomin’-teen. “An’ when he does, we’ll be ready for ‘im.”’

‘Yes dear,’ agreed the woman.

Little hands tugged at a rack of clothing, pulling open a hole into a dark little fortress. Clothes racks were wonderful things.

‘I dunno about sendin’ Travis to school next year if ‘e ‘as to risk it.’

‘It will be fine. Hogwarts is one of the safest places- _in the country_ ,’ replied the woman. Strain in her voice suggested a piece of clothing was a little too tight to slip into.

Through the impermeable fortress of fabric, a little boy spied out curiously at the world. Nothing could harm him here. No monsters could pass through the shadows of the night. A blanket, a wall, it was all the same. In here, he was safe.

‘Like it was safe when You-Know-’Oo attacked?’

The dressing room merely sighed. ‘He’s long gone, dear.’

A bespectacled fellow with dark hair stared out grimly at the room in general, from one of the pages, as the man flipped through the papers. ‘Alright, ‘ave it your way. Not like it’s my world anyway.’ He sighed and closed the paper, folding it back up and placing it on a nearby table. ‘I’m glad I missed all of that. Muggles mostly only ‘ave to worry about your garden variety terrorists.’

In no time at all, the maternal figure stepped free of the change room. ‘So, how do I look?’ She gave a little twirl.

The chair was abandoned as the man stood up. That large moustache curled into the shape of a smile. ‘Aw, you look as lovely as the day I married ya.’ The two then drew closer. Faces pressed together as the two adults did the gross parent thing.

With that, the woman glanced around. ‘Where is Travis?’ A simple, big finger led her view toward a clothing rack. All too quickly, an impish grin crossed her lips. ‘Where did Travis go? Is he invisible? My little wizard.’

There was no hiding the sound of a little giggle from the clothing rack.

‘Did he run away?’ Mock fear dripped from her voice. ‘Honey, we need to call the police! He’s gone!’

A little foot poked in and out of view as it kicked at the robes. Giggling turned to laughing. Even now this game still made them smile.

Her coy smile neared through the cracks in the fabric wall as the woman leaned in. ‘Or maybe… he’s in… _here_!’

Robes flew away like an opened curtain. Mother leaned in- and stopped.

‘Boo!’, shouted the child, hair ruffled in a scruffy mess as they hopped out. This was a fun game.

_Or not._ Mother and father alike backed up in unison as the child emerged. A smile half-mixed with a furrowed brow. The mother’s head turned to one side in dubious caution.

‘Travis?’, asked the father.

Only a sweet smile graced the child’s round, little face. ‘I’m fine, I was just messing around.’

Both parents exchanged a glance in unison.

Mirrors never lied. Across the room, a silvery panel watched on as a mother and father looked down at a little girl in boy’s clothing.

* * *

Time allegedly went by in the blink of an eye. That was only sometimes true, in actuality. Seconds could last hours. Minutes could stretch their merry way into years. Walking into Gringotts for the first time had a nice, lasting memory to it. Being stared down by goblins was definitely a lasting experience. In fact, it lasted every time it happened, again and again.

The first time pushing a cart through the station on Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, that lasted blooming ages. The fear of accidentally running headlong into a wall had the adrenal effect of making it go on for several minutes as acceleration took hold.

The next few dozen times, sure, those came and went a little faster each time it happened, but the first… the first time lasted ages when Victoria Prewell and her little Slytherin gang gathered around and called him a mudblood.

Losing his first ever duel to Abigail Parker and spending three days in the infirmary with scaly skin, now that hung around. What was that nickname they had given him? _Ah, yes, Fish Face._

The O.W.L.s were a nice long few hours of pain, right up until the end, when they lasted promptly twelve seconds and the clock was ticking.

What lasted the longest was the silence. Eight years was a long time to feel unwelcome in one’s own skin and never say a word. Walking out of that school and back into the ignorant, faceless world had never been so freeing as it was now.

More than enough time had passed to sit at home and readjust into the real side of life. There were no more exams- beyond bloody driving exams. For all the rest of the muggle world thought, Travis had been practicing for at least a year now. That was not going to go well.

Right now it didn’t matter. Now was the perfect time to get away. Outside a little stand, Travis collected his purchase and moseyed on back to the picnic table. Broad, tattooed arms unfolded out across the whole of the surface as Roger Noble leaned on the table like an ox. There was 6’4” of solid muscle now weighing down on the concrete surface. Like a giddy child, he reached out greedily for his double-scoop of cotton candy ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. The moustache was now long-gone, as was a fair deal of his hair.

Jin-Joo Noble delicately accepted her single-serve bowl of green tea ice cream with a nod, sitting like a lady. Brown eyes fixed warmly on the boy as she gave an endearing smile.

Today the park was quiet. It was perfect. There were no annoying tourists or people walking their dogs, or groups of kids blasting music and lighting up so they could pretend to be cool. For once, it was peaceful. The day was calm.

Then Travis rounded a leg over the bench and sat down sideways, leaning a backpack against the seat like a pillow. ‘I really missed this,’ he admitted. Bright blue eyes watched the sunny blue sky. It wasn’t hard to tell he shared his mother’s ethnicity. Eastern tan skin mixed well with strong cheekbones and a tall face. Short black hair had been neatly groomed to Eastern standards of tradition. It had only taken eighteen years to work out into any degree of modestly handsome. At long last, the days of weighty robes and ties were gone to the wayside. An orange blazer, old jeans, and a pair of sneakers fitted much better.

‘You know, son,’ said Roger, lips now purple, ‘you’ll always have a ‘ome ‘ere.’

Travis merely nodded. ‘Thanks, dad.’

Mom weighed in too. ‘It’s such a big step.’ A little plastic spoon hung mid-scoop in her hand as she spoke. She dared not sully her lipstick.

The young man merely shrugged. ‘Probably not as big as coming here from Korea.’

Shining ruby lips worked into a smile. ‘You’ll be fine, my brave boy. Or… girl.’ Mother gave a solemn nod as she bit back a tear. She wasn’t about to smudge her eyeshadow. _Typical._

‘Girl, mom,’ Travis replied wearily. ‘I was never anything else.’

Father held up a giant palm. ‘Okay, but you’ll always be our son.’ After a quick pause, he backtracked, circling his hand to stir things along. ‘You know what I mean.’

Travis sighed. ‘I know what you mean.’ He sat up. Words hung silently on the tip of his tongue as he shrugged. ‘This is a new start. I can change everything.’

With a nod, Roger acquiesced. ‘Okay. I understand. You need your own space. Plus, you can probably practice your you-know-what a little easier than here.’

Mom eagerly nodded. ‘It wasn’t like this when I moved here. You could actually practice in your own home.’

‘How are any kids supposed to keep up unless they live in the magical world?’ Travis irritably tossed both arms up in the air, held up by a shrug. ‘If you hadn’t trained me over the summer, I seriously would’ve dropped out. They- they just don’t care at all there.’

Jin-Joo shook her head. ‘It was better than where I learned. We just want the best for you.’

‘I get it, Trav,’ said Roger, butting in. ‘I ‘ated school, too. You know ‘ow I feel about that, seein’ you go broke our ‘earts. But ‘ere you are, gettin’ ready to go out into the world! It’s a big new adventure!’ A massive finger poked the boy’s chest. ‘An’ this time, you chose it.’

‘We will walk you to the station,’ mom said, breaking the topic. There was no point in arguing with her. When a mother was adamant, their logic was airtight. Floo pots were out of the question, and disapparating was… well, it was just not really a safe option in either world. Selection was limited. Taking the train or driving were about the only options, and dad worked tomorrow. It was easier to take the train.

‘Okay,’ said Travis, relenting under the weight of parental love- or mollycoddling. ‘Thanks’ was added for good measure. It wasn’t going to be right now anyway, there was still time to pack.

There was a lot of time left to prepare. It had been weeks back since he’d been approved for tenancy at an apartment on Dragon’s Heel Lane just off of the main strip in Wizarding London. Things were coming together. In another few hours, it was goodbye to the muggle world.

‘D’you ‘ave everythin’ ya need?’, asked Roger.

Travis sat up straight. ‘I think so.’ There wasn’t much really to take. The clothes were packed, casual and magical. The wand was stowed away safely where it wouldn’t get lost or broken. Mom had thrown in a couple cookbooks with family recipes, and dad had made a hand-drawn guide of various how-tos, like fixing plumbing or changing a tire. There was no guarantee how helpful the latter would be in the wizarding world, but it was still nice to have. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t be seeing him every other week for dinner or washing clothes anyway. He wasn’t really that far away. Devonshire was pretty close to London, even by muggle bus.

By the time they left the park, it was almost four o’clock. There wasn’t enough time for everything important. Too many little things always got in the way, like work, or checking backup plans. A few months at home had come and gone so, so fast, Now there was no more time.

Travis sat up, casting his eyes anywhere but the starry bedroom sky. After a second a smile filled the empty spaces. He had been, what, twelve when they had that done? Over the summer he and dad had painted it up with cosmic blues and milky nebulas. Silver and brass thumb tacks dreamed up the results of homemade astrology, forming various made-up figures in the sky. Over in the corner above the closet was the little turtle constellation mom had put there. She was so proud. Pink walls betrayed the agony of a long-dead phase of early childhood, now painted over with cherry blossom trees and distant mountain ranges. The pink hue kind of worked for it, now. The floor only added to the beautifully mis-matched anarchy. A black carpet sported dozens of open eye patterns, staring this way and that like an abyss of monsters. It had been neat when he was thirteen. It was still neat.

So many little things bottled their own memories on shelves and dresser corners. If they hadn’t already been packed, a stack of witches and wizards cards would have sat by the bed. He only had about… over hundred to go. The stuffed animal of the cat in knight’s armour riding a dragon had been packed already.

It had been an okay life. Coming back from school for such a short visit year after year only felt like visiting. Nobody else likely lied awake at night in their own room, afraid to turn their music up in case their dormitory mates got angry. It was hard to jump and squeal at a new chapter of a book late at night… or cry without feeling the mockery rising like a tidal wave.

The laptop could come. Maybe his new roommates would have access to the MagicNet. It would be worth paying an extra few sickles on the rent. Maybe a stuffed animal or two could come along, if his roommates were mature enough not to tease him for it. Then his eyes drew to a funny little black box on the desk. Travis picked it up with careful fingers. A three-by-three inch cube sported holes of all shapes and sizes, each side corresponding to the different electrical plugs from all around the world. A little glow emitted from its core, changing colours every few seconds. A casual tap with his thumb turned it red. Another turned it green. Ever so playfully, Travis gave it a playful heft before snatching it up and pocketing it. According to mom, the Imugi-In-A-Box was twenty-five years older (give or take) than London’s Thunderstorm Cube being sold in Diagon Alley, and that one could only charge European devices for about ten months before losing charge and burning out. That was the best birthday gift in years. That thing was definitely coming along for the move.

What else had to come along? Travis spared a long, hard last glance for anything sitting in plain sight that was staring him dead in the eyes, waiting to be noticed. Nothing really jumped out. With any luck he’d get there, unpack, and remember what it was while laying in bed at two in the morning.

It wouldn’t hit now anyway if anything was missing. A knock at the door broke the train of thought. Travis nodded long before the voice was heard. ‘May I enter?’

‘Yeah, come in, mom,’ replied the young man, almost instantly. It was her, of course it was. Nobody else pitter-pattered up silent as a mouse and then paused for two seconds before knocking in rhythmic fashion. Tradition was everything.

Ever so delicately, Jin-joo shuffled in. An elegant green dress wrapped her body in ceremonial fashion. The woman bowed and drew her wand. A single, ringed handle of white forsythia led to a split as it branched into two tight shafts. Intricate carvings graced every available surface. She’d always called it the Two-Headed Snake. Apparently it was a more common design in the east, but so was a nine-tailed fox fur core.

_Oh. Oh… ah._ Travis glanced around awkwardly and then unzipped his luggage. It wasn’t like he really needed his wand all the way out in the middle of nowhere in the muggle world. He quickly withdrew it and bowed, taking position. His was nothing really all that fancy. A simple, red cherry wood wand sported a raised double helix all the way up to the tip, with every gap producing an upturned thorn like a rose. From a distance it looked like some kind of emaciated pine cone. The core was plain, ordinary unicorn hair.

Mother raised her free hand and arm behind her, curved in a crescent like a fencer. Her wand arm extended out forward, tip of the wand pointed at the boy like a knife. Travis did the same.

There came the first attack. A spiral twist of the wrist arced below and inward twice in a counter-clockwise fashion, flicking upward as it centred, palm upward. Nothing happened.

Hangseong _,_ ’ uttered jade lips, slowly and carefully.

Travis nodded. Now it was his turn. The wrist motion was all there. Months of practice had seen to that. Study was not the issue, it was the practical that was the trouble. He repeated the words with flawless accuracy.

Jin-joo nodded. Her stance held firm as she took a step forward and thrusted with her wand, a straight jab. Her wrist turned downward, with her curled pinky up toward the sky. ‘ _Suyul._ ’

This too was repeated, albeit with the woman rolling her eyes and walking over to correct the hand motion.

‘Pinky to the sky. No compromise.’ she commanded.

All Travis could do was nod. She was the teacher here. Admittedly, more was learned in less than a year from her than had been pounded in through seven years at Hogwarts. Mama-Seonsaengnim watched with approval until Travis did it again and again, forcing the shape of the motion. She was right, after all.

Next came the hard part. Mother took a step back, waving her wand down and around in a wide arc, sweeping away from the body. It didn’t end there. She closed the loop with a snapping flick as she directed her wand back at her target. There weren’t words this time. Both duellists merely nodded in silent agreement.

Then the next twenty minutes were spent correcting Travis’ stance and perfecting that rebound at the end. The techniques kept coming as the teacher kept teaching. Her body and arms flowed like a dance, willowy as a tree in a windstorm. Every motion had a reason to it, nothing was just an art style: Cast a spell and it would fire off like a bullet, but not always so fast. There was time to move and deflect. South Korean sorcery was a discipline of its own- and boy was it more demanding than just waving a wand and uttering a few words.

So passed two hours. By the time dinner rolled around that night, hunger pangs definitely left their mark. Tonight was the night. There was no more time to spend on childish things. After school came adulthood, and leaving the nest. Well, technically, in Travis’ case first there came a year off to sit at home watching the telly and learning how the world really worked. Maybe university would be an option one day, but right now, it would probably help more to finally get out into the magical world and really learn something about it.

There was precious little time left to enjoy. It all weighed down as mother set the dinner plates, laden with food. A few minutes of silent eating and the clinking of forks eventually gave way to the broken ice of a cleared throat. Roger pursed his lips and forced eye contact.

‘So… you’re really goin’ to do this, then?’

Travis paused mid-bite. Then he nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah I am.’ It was hard to chew and swallow. Deep down inside, dark dread twisted and writhed like fighting eels in the pit of his stomach. Cold fire burned in his chest, stilling his breath.

Jin-joo butted in. ‘You can’t get your money from Gringotts or use any of your ID if you do this.’ Concern twinkled in her brown eyes. ‘You’ll be on your own if you choose to live as a woman.’

A sigh sprinted up his windpipe and dove out for freedom. ‘Yeah, I’ve thought about all of that,’ replied Travis solemnly. ‘It’s still what I want.’

Mother smiled as she placed a hand on his. ‘Then it’s what we want.’

‘We’ll walk ya as far as the station and be on our way if that’s what ya want,’ offered the father, still eating without delay.

A nervous laugh flipped that on its head. ‘Well, technically, I want to stay here. I mean, I- I can be myself and the neighbours don’t really- they, they don’t care, uh, but the magic- the, uh, the world. Magic. Agh.’ All too quickly, his head dropped like a stone into his open hands. _Slow and steady. Take a breath. Okay._ ‘It- I can practice real magic there, not just go through the motions and daydream. I mean, I want you to come along and see where I live and all that, I really do, but… I don’t know how I could swing that. I told them at the apartment that I’m my own cousin. And the kids at school, I mean- I mean I talked about you. They’d recognise my dad, the builder with all the tattoos, and you, mom, with your beautiful clothes and- always so pretty. I… spilled everything.’ Travis proffered a nervous shrug without prompt. ‘It- it was all I had. They- they asked all these questions and I had to say something. I said I was Travis’ cousin.’ Breaths shuddered out uneasily. What kind of a tangled knot of a web had he gotten himself into? This would never work. The fork began to shake in his hand.

‘Maybe I should just call it off. I- I- I- could call in sick or say I changed my mind, maybe- maybe tell them-’

Roger leaned in. Soft blue eyes bore down over a hooked nose. ‘You’re not backin’ down now, Trav. You can do this.’ He gave a little nod. ‘As for startin’ over, don’t think that’s nothin’ new. Your mother an’ I know all about ‘ow that goes.’ A rolling laugh bucked his shoulders up and down as Roger shared a broad smile with his life.

There it was. There was that sting. Pressure pushed in under the jaw, rising up. Heat welled behind his eyes. Travis bit back a tear. ‘Oh blazes, I’m turning my back on everyone.’

‘No,’ snapped mom, sudden as the snap of a whip. ‘You never disappoint us. We’ll always be here for you. Just send an owl anytime.’

‘Or call,’ added dad. ‘You’ve got your cellphone.’

Really, they weren’t all that far away. Travis conceded with a nod. Now at last he could eat.

After dinner, with all his things packed away, it began. Travis gathered his luggage and settled by the front door. One rolling kit and a backpack was really it. Most of that was clothes and old school things. Somewhere in that travel bag, a set of scales and some glass vials had come loose of their wrapping and clinked as he sat on the luggage. That was bound to crack or smash at some point.

Mom put on her shawl. Dad grabbed his coat. It was a short walk to the Starcross train station. The trio departed as one. Travis gave only a half-glance as they passed right by the car in the driveway. A long walk was nice, out in the cool night air.

A massive hand clapped down on the boy’s shoulder. Roger smiled. ‘Are ya excited to practice your craft?’

The young man replied with a nod. ‘Yeah, I guess. It’ll be nice to try it without people comparing me to someone else or grading me on it.’

Roger sneered. ‘I never saw the logic in a school like that. If you ask me, they’re not trainin’ ya to do big magic at all, just control and metre out what you can do.’

‘They… just expect so much.’ Travis regulated his breath. ‘I can’t always keep up.’

Father shook his head. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t send ya to summer school for learnin’. But we thought it was better to bring you ‘ome for the summer. Bloody stupid if you ask me.’ The burly creature shook his head. Thoughts remained. ‘Sendin’ a kid off for seven years an’ we barely saw yez as it is, we couldn’t sacrifice you entirely.’ Troubled blue eyes pleaded for a sliver of recognition.

‘I didn’t want to go anyway,’ Travis assured the couple. ‘Forget what the teachers said, most of them were morons.’ _Only most._

‘Everyone learns at a different pace,’ mom reaffirmed.

That- _no_. ‘I wasn’t stupid,’ snapped the boy. ‘I’m not stupid.’

Jin-Joo shook her head. ‘It’s not what I mean, sweetie.’

‘It sounds like it.’

Once again she rebuffed this. ‘No, I understand.’

Travis nodded. ‘Okay.’ It wasn’t worth arguing over. This was their last night together. Starcross station came into view all too quickly.

‘Just remember, we love you.’ A weak smile lifted Jin-Joo’s face.

‘We do,’ added Roger.

With a nod, Travis smiled back. ‘I love you too.’

The station normally wasn’t open at night. With very few exceptions, magic in the muggle world had all but vanished. Humans were easy to fool, but some surveillance cameras tended to track movement and record suddenly vanishing persons. Methods had to be revised and improved as technology grew in sophistication. 

Just this last time, mom walked him through it. A finger traced an eight-point star on a seemingly insignificant part of the railing next to a garbage can, rewarding her with a gentle “click” sound. Jin-Joo nodded and pushed the unbroken railing open, like a fence gate. It gave way. All was suddenly calmed. The drone of cars died off instantly. There were no sirens of pedestrians chattering. Rushing water normally ruled the air from the nearby beach, as the waves lazily lapped at the shore, but no sound could be heard. The world hung in limbo.

Up they went, onto the overpass. Slowly as she crossed the platform, she knocked, tapping one spot in specific, then another three feet away, then finally three in succession each a foot apart. Then just like that she turned around and headed back to the other side of the walkway. Her hand reached for an unseen gate at the end. She pushed it open.

The real Starcross Station blossomed into life like fireworks. A sunset red sky replaced the blackened night, streaked with trailing hues of golds and oranges. Over in the ocean, large creatures like dolphins with butterfly wings breached and dove, playfully weaving through and under the wooden pirate-age vessels sailing to and from the docks now claiming the shore.

Steam and coal-powered locomotives rumbled across the rails with the force of a thunderstorm. Vibration rattled the now-ancient and iron-wrought overpass. Travis followed his parents down onto the stable floor.

It was another world. Wizards in robes strolled by at their own pace, tailed by self-propelled luggage. Other cases flew with wings. One even appeared to have a little propeller on top, because of… style? Other people called out from nearby stalls. Everything from newspapers to knicknacks were up for grabs- given they paid for them. Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans sat on shelves next to ice mice, snapping pumpkins, and Heat-Me-Ups. Some magical snacks were pretty novel.

His father of course stopped by the newsstand to buy a copy of the Daily Prophet. Other news outlets like the Bard Of Our Times, Muggles Today, and the Quibbler were quickly passed by. He read as they walked, seeking out the right train.

‘“Black Kandal: The New Grindelwald?” So ‘e’s really back, eh?’ Dad shook his head and kept reading. Mom only rolled her eyes in response. ‘Says ‘ere ‘e’s been spotted in ‘Ogsmeade.’ The man looked to Travis. ‘I’m just bloody glad you didn’t get involved in that. If I’d known he was ‘idin in that school, we’d ‘ave pulled you out.’

Travis merely shrugged. ‘I barely saw any of it. I saw the lights from the astronomy tower when he fought Rufus and I was there in the feast hall for dinner when the enchanted ceiling rained blood, but other than that I missed out on everything.’ He wasn’t important enough to have been involved. All the candles and torches in the school also turned black at one point, but that wasn’t really anything to write home about in a school where literally anything could happen.

‘That’s not a bad thing,’ mom replied sternly.

‘I know, I- I agree. I just mean- never mind.’ He shook the errant thoughts loose from his mind before they conspired to form anything tangible. Mom and dad were right. It was better to be safe than dead.

The fatherly figure loomed against the lamplight as he turned to face his one and only baby boy. ‘If you see anythin’ dangerous, like if it looks like the Candlers are nearby, or there’s fightin’ in the streets, get out of there and call us immediately, okay?’ It wasn’t a command. Baby blues begged. ‘We’ll come get you.’

Travis nodded at this. ‘Yeah. Okay.’ Without any real sarcasm or evaluation, the words mulled about again and again. What was the real chance of a terrorist attack in magical London? The muggle world seemed utterly safe. Maybe this was a bad time to start spreading his own wings.

‘And please stay away from Rufus Mooney,’ his mother added. ‘If he is Black Kandal’s son, he’s just as dangerous, even if they aren’t on the same side.’

This time Travis could honestly scoff. ‘Heh, yeah right, like the most popular boy in school’d even give me the time of day.’

‘I mean it.’ Mom meant it. ‘He’s trouble. He’s a target. It sounds cruel, but if you see him and he gets attacked, run and hide, please. It’s not your fight.’

‘Okay, but what if I get attacked?’ That was a real concern, gaining momentum by the minute. Maybe it wasn’t too late to cancel this whole thing.

Mother’s dainty hands ever so gently clapped upon Travis’ cheeks. ‘Then use what I taught you, _then_ run.’

‘An’ if all else fails, chuck a brick at’em and kick’em in the rattlers.’ The straight deadpan of father’s face quickly cut through Travis’ gentle chuckle. ‘No sense fightin’ fair if you’re fightin’ for your life. It’s not a fair fight either way. If it’s do or die, you do whatever you have to, to live. Witches an’ wizards might ‘ave magic, but I’ve seen their world. They’re mostly naïve to the trivial basics. Too much time spent ‘avin’ everythin’ at their fingertips.’ He just had to make it personal now. ‘I can’t believe most of these people’ve never ‘eard of a smoke alarm. ‘S a bloody nightmare. Imagine that, not wakin’ up when the buildin’s on fire.’

Even mother nodded approvingly at that. ‘Just live for yourself, my baby. You’ll have so much fun, I know it. This is such a big step for you.’ There came the tears. Jin-Joo dabbed at her face with a handkerchief.

This was getting to be too much. Even the train agreed. A whistle blew long and loud, signalling the last call for boarding. Parents and child alike burst into a run toward the platform for the London Hexpress. The big blue train huffed and puffed in impatient readiness as the last of the stragglers hopped aboard.

Jin-Joo’s eyes lit up as surprise took hold, and the woman promptly ruffled up into a panic. ‘Your ticket! Do you have your ticket!?’

Travis gave a pacifying nod as he reached into his pocket and flashed the paper stub.

‘Oh thank goodness! Okay! Have fun!’ The woman waved.

‘Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do.’ Roger let slip a playful wink and a smirk.

He couldn’t help it. ‘No promises.’ One final family hug sealed the deal. Travis stepped back and filed in at the last of the line. Soon he took his first step onto the train.

Then there was yet another last moment. A tug on his coat stopped him in his tracks. A round little face teared up, dripping eyeshadow. Without a word, Jin-Joo shoved a parcel into his hand. She smiled as she stepped back. The train began to roll.

It was time to go.

Off he went. This was really it. There was no telling what happened next. Travis waved back as the world slid away behind him. That hot sting built up once again behind his eyes as tears fought their way out.

Then there came mom, running down the platform, waving goodbye. It was hard not to smile.

Well, it was until a hand jerked him away by the collar. The disapproving scowl of a ticket taker stared the boy down hard. ‘Get away from the approach and get a seat before you fall off the train,’ commanded the man. ‘What do you think this is, a romance movie?’

That definitely soiled the mood. ‘I- I was just- my mom wanted to say goodbye and I- you- you know, running… after… okay.’ Nobody cared. The boy awkwardly shuffled off inside to find a place to hide.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden the train, but this was the first time alone. Luxury plush coated the walls in designer purple, matching the elegant seats, four to a table. Lights without wiring glowed like miniature suns, floating in rows over empty candelabras all along the sides of the walls. Magic came in many forms. A wizard in the corner, for instance, wasn’t as crafty as he believed, discreetly pulling a hip flask from his person and dumping it into his drink. An equally discreet flick of his wand disguised it the colour and consistency of cocoa. At least he seemed to enjoy that a lot more than the real thing.

Travis blankly glanced around until he found a table all to himself. It wasn’t in a quiet little corner, but it was at least unoccupied. Unfortunately, it did have an older woman one booth over, talking several decibels too loud about her nephew, the cryptozoologist. He tossed his backpack and luggage into the corner of the booth and settled in. After about five minutes, he essentially knew everything in the world about Castrus Stronghorn and his magnificent and glamorous trip to Peru to study the local creatures hidden in the jungles.

There was still that package his mother had handed him at the last moment. That was at least a way to pass some time. The simple parcel was a little rectangle wrapped in brown paper. It barely matched the length of his hand. Judging by the shape and contour along one side, it felt like a book. There was nothing to really lose, so he unwrapped it… and smiled.

She did. The face of a plain little black journal bore his name, embossed in gold. Everything past that was written in Korean. “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” stood out strong on the first page, circled, underlined four times, and with little sunshine lines poking out for cheerful emphasis. The point was not lost.

Every page detailed techniques on spells or recipes. Written in neat lines with machine accuracy were diagrams for runes and sigils. Most of these were at least mildly familiar. Many pages seemed to be blank in-between. He took a quiet, thoughtful breath. There was no reason she would have left blank pages. Travis kept flipping.

There, at the very back, was a little note, surrounded by scribbles of kittens, dolphins, and turtles. What was she, eleven years old? “Prove your knowledge!”

So he needed to master these in order to unlock the secrets in the book, huh? Would they magically unveil themselves when he correctly displayed their use? She managed to make a game out of it. That was probably a smart incentive for practicing. _Smart._ Mama-Seonsaengnim struck again, teaching even from worlds apart. He had his own personal Hogwarts in the palm of his hand.

A real, true laugh fluttered free as it dawned on him: Not a one of these were Hogwarts approved, or even in English. These were all her weird and mystical things from back in her homeland. She even had diagrams for duelling stances, and different styles of defences. It was guaranteed, nobody in school would know these. Maybe that would be useful.

Without warning, a sudden presence invaded his personal bubble of loneliness, sitting down in the seats opposite him, across the table. Frazzled golden locks waved out in a strange bob haircut, like harnessed lightning. A thin, sculpted nose led to a fine point, reinforced by high cheekbones that sloped inward like a cored apple down to a pointed, jutting chin. Brilliant blue eyes practically shone like charged electricity. The last touch to top it off was the mad, upturned grin, bordering desperately on the urge to show teeth. Electric blue focused fixedly like guns on their new acquaintance. This creature was decidedly female.

‘Hi,’ stated the woman, brimming with pep. A plain blue blouse was decorated with neck frills, leading down to a pair of tight black pants and flats.

Already Travis could feel himself edging backwards into his seat. A ‘hello’ was managed, but not with much enthusiasm.

‘My name is Eudora Skeeter. You know, niece of famed Rita Skeeter? Woman of our time? Pioneer of the truth? Author of five ground-breaking biographies?’ She wasn’t blinking.

‘Uh-’

‘You look young,’ she stated suddenly.

_Well, thank you?_

‘I represent the Bard Of Our Times. Judging by your age and your incredible discomfort, as well as your travel gear,’ she spouted off, now suddenly leaning in, ‘ _I’d_ say you’re a recent student from Hogwarts either moving into student housing or visiting a relative. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong.’

It was a good thing that he didn’t try, because he wasn’t given time to anyway.

‘You went to school with Rufus Mooney, I know it. Who didn’t?’ _Ah._ With lightning agility she whipped out a quill and notepad. ‘You know him, you saw the unadulterated truth first-hand.’ She leaned in even farther. ‘So tell me: What was it like to be around him?’

Boy, was she asking the wrong person. Travis let the pause sink in, until it became apparent that her sugar-fuelled fervour was awaiting feedback. She had to be twenty-five years old at most. At last she blinked, once.

‘Okay, uh, well… first off, one moment.’ He braced himself for the inevitable interjection. It didn’t come. ‘I barely knew him-’

There it was. _‘But_ you knew him. You see?’ If it was at all possible to add new grounds to a statistical ceiling, her face lit up in new levels of enthusiasm. ‘So tell me: What do you think of our tragic anti-hero? Is he the next Harry Potter, or the next He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Allegedly he can see in the dark and his mind is cursed with dark magic waiting to fly from his wand unto unsuspecting friends and foes alike. His disturbing habits in school, what were they? Does he talk too loud? Does he snore? Is he a bully? What makes his rage-addled mind tick like the time bomb it so clearly seems to be?’

What could he really say? ‘I wasn’t even in the same house as him.’

A notepad was shoved in his face. ‘And your name is?’

Who was this lady, again? ‘I’m not sure I want to say,’ Travis rebutted, quite honestly.

Eudora merely hoisted high an inquisitive brow. Her smile was undaunted. ‘So Travis, Rufus Mooney was in Slytherin, yes?’ _What?_ ‘Was he in the same year as you or ahead of you? You’re _not_ older than him,’ she said with a slice of mockery.

Travis glanced down at the book in his hands, with his name on it, and sighed. It was quickly tucked away into his pocket. _Whatever, fine._ ‘He was in the same year but I didn’t know him. I mostly hung around, doing my own thing.’

This wasn’t acceptable to the probing journalist. ‘When you _did_ run into him, what kind of person was he in school?’

‘We really never crossed at all. He had his own friends and I just stayed out of the way.’

‘From your phrasing, I gather Rufus was somewhat of an intimidating presence?’ Eager peepers sought answers.

Giving any information up to this woman felt unwise at the very best. ‘I really can’t help you.’

Finally she stood up and snapped her notebook shut. ‘That will be all for now.’ Just for a moment, she leaned, standing on her toes, Sight lines scanned his luggage. ‘I’m sure we’ll continue this again some other time, Mister Travis.’ The young woman gave an old-fashioned curtsy and excused herself.

Travis slumped into his seat with an exasperated sigh. He hadn’t even arrived yet and he was being accosted by strangers. Maybe this was normal. He had to get used to talking to people anyway. Right now though, curling up into a ball and resting his forehead on the table seemed like a nicer option.

Some time later, the train rolled to a slow halt. Travis waited until all of the others had hauled themselves off before grabbing his things and following along. The strange woman was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. In the moments of peace that followed, the boy quickly took off his jumper and turned it inside out, replacing orange with red. The raggedy jeans were pulled off to reveal black yoga pants. The shoes had already been swapped for lace-up black boots on the way. All the cast-offs were thrown into the backpack.

There was just one more correction to make. Short, black hair grew long, sporting waves and coloured streaks of crimson down to the shoulders. A long face turned soft and round, with a saucy chin. Eyes darkened as the sky became the earth. A shirt filled out a little tighter. For effect, a touch of red lipstick was quickly thrown on. Well, some mascara wouldn’t hurt, either.

A feminine hand reached under and inside the jumper to pull out the book now pressing on her abdomen. She sighed. It was a pity it had the wrong name on it.

_Or not._ Her jaw dropped as she read the title. Trassia was now spelled out in red. Somehow… mom knew. She wiped back a tear and shoved the book into her pocket.

Now she was ready.


	2. Aspirations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey has just begun, but now the real test begins, as Trassia has to adapt to a magical world that she has never truly explored.

One foot after another, Trassia stepped out into the world. The lights and sights of the magical world’s King’s Cross train station soon faded the memory of the ride over. Starcross was nothing compared to this. A hundred thousand sights and colours shaped every square inch. Hanging banners took the place of ticker tape signs and flat screen displays, showing ads for dragon paste, or the newest Supernova mk III racing broom, which apparently according to the advert could reach ridiculous speeds of over two hundred and seventy-five miles per hour with wind resistance shielding, for some reason. Who would want that? The moment anyone took off they were guaranteed to hit a wall and turn into a raspberry pancake. The broom itself would literally tear the rider’s legs off in the takeoff. At least it was a pretty stardust blue colour.

Over on three other large tapestries, the prim and proper face of a ministry official stared into the soul of every passing watcher as she droned on about something, probably politics, or Rufus-bloody-Mooney.

There had to be over five hundred witches and wizards just milling about and boarding or leaving trains. It was Hogwarts all over again. The train to school had long since come and gone, though. Now all manners of others took its place, all headed off to weird and wonderful places. The underwater train all the way to France looked neat, that might be a fun ride one day. The speeds it would have to achieve for its purported overnight service must be incredible.

Everything here was hers now. The Fix was gone now that she was out of the muggle world, she could cast magic. Maybe not all the world was realistically hers, with only a month’s rent in advance to pay forward and only money for food left over. Things might be a little tight for a while, but she could manage.

Trassia hitched up her backpack over both shoulders and dragged her luggage along by hand across the station, by hand, in the old-fashioned muggle tradition. A jealous little twinge stabbed deep at her heart as she set eyes on a pair of teenage girls, one feeding books and snacks to her friend’s backpack. It ate it all down with soft teeth, like it was alive. There was so much that school never prepared her for.

There was so much more to see. This was just the same old school station, she’d been here at least fourteen times. Magical London was still waiting outside. Trassia moved along, avoiding the designated apparating zones and chimney exit zones. Nothing had been the same since that high-ranking ministry official accidentally splinched into the same spot as a man apparating in the same time. What was left apparently wasn’t worth looking at. Now there were rules.

It then dawned on her just how lost she was. King’s Cross was King’s Cross. It was a train station, she knew where that was. Diagon Alley, sure, that was easy. Apparently Dragon Heel Lane was nearby there. It would be easy to find in theory. Just in case, she scanned around for a “You are here” map. They used to have one.

After a minute she found it, next to a large column with an advert for “Instaport: The Faster Way To Travel”. They’d updated it. What was once an old map set into a pedestal with glowing points had been utterly replaced with a fully-detailed miniature diorama of the entire city. Every little building was a perfect recreation. Little people even wandered around down in there. All the bus routes glowed in various colours. Trassia leaned in and started scanning, until a wizard wandered over.

‘The Drowned Hag,’ he commanded. The map promptly placed a pin of light over the pub in question and drew a line all the way from the station. The man toddled off, contented.

So it was that easy, huh? ‘Uh, Moltin Felis on Dragon Heel Lane,’ stated the young lady with some uncertainty. At least it was clear and concise. The map did its due part and pointed her out of King’s Cross, down a road to Diagon Alley, and then down a side alley by Flourish & Blotts, then down another alley that wound around itself like a question mark, and then… down another alley. Trassia sighed up to the sky, letting her head fall back. They’d said it was just off of Diagon Alley. That was not. It didn’t even look nice, even the little model houses were dumpy and crooked. A tiny little man in woman’s nightwear was busy getting shoes thrown at him by a woman from a second floor window. Then she started with the shirts-  _ ah _ . No more needed to be seen.

She had her heading. Trassia quickly reached for her phone, tapped it with her wand, and watched as the volume buttons switched from up and down to Magic or Muggle. She pressed Magic. The little purple phone with stick-on stars immediately turned inside out. A red and black metal frame surrounding a sphere of silver light. It still had most phone functions, minus the hundreds of unnavigable menus. With a finger, she spun the sphere until an eyeball symbol materialised. Magic had a camera app. A picture would help for landmarks. She tapped the sphere and nothing happened. A blank black picture was saved into her album. A few seconds later a message popped up on the sphere:

“Attention: A picture tracked to your Jibberus Phone (registration code TNOBLE3341) has been deemed to contain sensitive subject material of a graphic magical nature. This action has been disallowed under the Safe Muggle Interactions Act (SMIA), Code 34, Section 11. This infraction has been logged in reference with your registration code and user identification. Please cease and desist or legal charges may follow pending a hearing and investigation. Kindly, the Ministry of Magic, Magical Security Board.”

‘What!? Are- are you kidding me!? I haven’t been here- haven’t been- I don’t even know what I- I- I- I did wrong and you slap my phone- my phone with an infraction?’ Already she was in trouble. She hadn’t been off the train for fifteen minutes and now they had a case file open on her name and phone number. This was ridiculous. They’d just started allowing phones five years ago. When did they do this now, the day she applied for residency? A bitter sneer found life in Trassia’s exasperation. The magic setting didn’t even work in the muggle world, so what was it even for anymore? The camera was now useless.

So much for that. She couldn’t even call mom and have her look the map route up on the computer. That was banned too out there in the boondocks of muggle town. One picture of a girl holding a wand shows up online and suddenly it’s totally banned.

There was a pen somewhere in her backpack, and a notepad. If she was quick, it wouldn’t be banned yet in favour of quills and inkwells. Trassia fished it free and started writing out the microscopic landmarks. Book shop, left at the cat statue, around and take a left just past the… was that a cellar? Then it was down the really narrow alley with the identical brown houses for probably ten minutes and it was…  _ drat _ . A finger counted the houses out one by one.  _ Okay, _ it was the thirty-second house on the right. Hopefully she didn’t get stabbed or robbed trying to find it.

As soon as she removed her focus from the section of the map, it zoomed out and condensed the entire side alley adventure back into nothingness. Trassia paused. ‘Wait, what?’ It wasn’t on the map anymore, what had happened? Her brain reeled as it cycled through old school memories of potential explanations. It was a disguised alley folded up in condensed space, it had to be unlocked with the right spell or combination. Nothing on here said anything about how to unlock it, did it? Was that just common knowledge? There was no helping it, her head fell into her open hands. It was like immigrating to a new country. Why were there so many rules?

All she could do was start walking. Standing here and complaining in public would only make her look mad. Trassia began the long hike out of the station and off to the site of the bank she couldn’t go into anymore. It would be kind of hard to explain to the goblins why she had Travis Noble’s key but looked nothing like him. It was likely to get her thrown out. Sure, it was easy to change into a male body, but… it wasn’t the point. Maybe one day she could go back and empty her vault, but now was too soon. It wasn’t worth it for only fifteen sickles in magical money.

On that thought, she would need a job. It wasn’t like she hadn’t worked before, this wouldn’t be too hard, hopefully. The basics of money in the wizarding world weren’t foreign, so she could at least run a cash register and other basics. There was even one promising lead to follow. Right now, sleep was looking a lot more inviting.

It was so different in so many ways. Roads were replaced by old stone-laden streets, manned only by pedestrians. A broomstick or two would pass overhead now and then, and some would land, but then they walked. It was a world without cars. Air pollution wasn’t a thing here. The cool night air was crisp and clean as the mountains or the forests.

Old stone and wood buildings vehemently clung to the medieval ages or somewhere thereabout, rejecting modern ideals like electricity or security cameras hidden on every other building. Instead of those, they seemed to have sentry gargoyles trained to watch the streets and skies. In some ways, then, there were modern equivalents, of a sort.

Diagon Alley eventually came into view. The cobbled stone streets of a seven year tradition once more said hello as she trundled onward into the boulevard of memories. So much had changed from the way it was in the pictures and newspapers.

Ollivanders now faced competition from a new rival. Fistlenewt’s Wands offered a great selection of foreign designs and materials. Trassia’s wand had come from there. A new little shop the size of a tool shed had managed to wedge itself between Trawmther’s Implements For The Third Eye and Breskin’s Beasts. People just went in and out of it now and then, always shutting the door, which was conveniently always locked. That was still a school mystery yet to be solved.

Outside of the second-hand alchemy shop was where Persimmon Allwell had mocked her in the second year for not being able to afford expensive school supplies. It was kind of hard when the economy kept raising prices and just buying all the essentials at cut rates was a fortune in itself. The muggle world had no idea what school expenses really were.

On the topic of money, even Gringotts had competition now. Apparently some years back, a dragon burst through the floor when it was attacked by Voldemort, devastating the bank and causing countless casualties. Gringotts had been the only wizarding bank in the world for centuries or more. Entire countries had pulled out for almost a decade in the wake of the catastrophe, according to the news. Now a smaller, local bank by the name of Vervanct firmly held ground down the street. Decorated like a grinning goblin with an arch of bronze interlocked fingers forming a doorway, it looked kind of cool. If Gringotts didn’t want to begrudge her access to her money, it might be worth trying that bank out. They wouldn’t know her to question her identity if she opened a new account under this name and face.

Anyhow, Flourish & Blotts survived to see the new age, old and creaky as it was. It now demanded Trassia’s attention. Now it was time to see if she could figure out basic level magic. There was a little gap between that building and the shop next door that now sold enchanted clothing.

It looked like the corners of two buildings. Nothing stood out especially well. In the gaps behind, there appeared to be only a dead end. The girl stood in the middle of the torch-lit road and stared at empty space like a fool. Nothing stood out at all. It had to be a secret combination of sequences, like with the train station. The old, tatty pub down the road, the Leaky Cauldron, had a sequence of bricks that needed to be tapped on a nondescript wall in order to get in through the muggle entrance. It could have been anything. This whole place was like a giant secret society.

That last thought replayed in her head in slow motion.  _ Alright, _ so it was literally a secret society. Why, though, did it have to be secret to itself? A red wand was removed from the inside pocket of her jumper, and she gave a few places an experimental poke and prod. Nothing worked, as was anticipated.

There was a spell for unlocking doors. A couple of third years had used it in school to sneak into places during the summer. Common room talk was useful when she was too insignificant to be noticed.

‘Alohomora.’ She pointed her wand at the narrow gap between buildings. That was how it was done, right? Unfortunately, it did nothing, so there was no way to tell.

‘Revelio.’ Maybe it could be exposed. She was again proven wrong in the aftermath.

This was it, she was locked out of the alley. Her arms slumped down to her sides in defeat. What did she do now, hike back to the station and catch a train home? She could get a hotel room- maybe. At least, she could if there was a vacancy. London was a busy place.  _ Well, _ the Leaky Cauldron was kind of slummy, but it at least tended to take pity on people in need. If all else failed, she could always go back to the muggle side and get a hotel room there, those almost always had options.

Defeated on the first night here though, that was too heavy a flashback to school. This was stupid. Brown eyes scanned around until the young woman caught sight of a passer-by without some urgent task at hand. Someone had to know. She called out.

‘Hello. Hi!’ Trassia waved a meek hand, her wand still tucked in her thumb.

A witch in her mid-thirties glanced over from across the street. ‘Yes?’ She stopped what she was doing, which apparently involved a crystal ball and a hanging pendulum.

‘Um, I’m actually kind of stuck,’ admitted Trassia. The dark of night mostly hid the glowing red of failure filling her face. ‘I know, it’s silly. I should be able to really find the- f- find my way- I mean, I mean… the door. Sides- the uh, the side, not, not door. Uh.’ The words were jumbling up again.

The woman only stared a recriminating stare as she was rightfully entitled to. ‘The what?’

Trassia helplessly tapped on the edge of Flourish & Blotts with her wand. ‘I can’t know, I mean get in.’

Now came the craning forward of a confused head as the stranger furrowed her brow and listened with dubious reluctance. ‘The shop is closed, come back in the morning.’

This was ridiculous. ‘Wall, corner… door… alley! There- Dragon Heel Lane!’ The words finally snapped into place. ‘I need to go there. It- it’s in here. Through here.’ This was not eloquent. At least the point had now been conveyed.

It all came together in the stranger’s head, at last. ‘Oh! I see now, you want to open the road to get there!’

‘Yeah.’ Trassia had tried to say that, in a way.

The following shrug slapped all the success away. “Sorry luv, I dunno. I don’t go down that street.’ Then the woman was off, back to whatever it was she had been doing.

That was that. Trassia leaned back against the wall. Mom would condemn her for giving up so easily, but… no. No, she couldn’t yet. How would she know? Plus, this would just look so embarrassing.

It took her a good minute of pressing her head into the wall in futility before the sound of a quiet cough almost gave her a heart attack. The stranger backed up when she turned and pointed her wand.

‘Hey,’ the figure warned, holding out his hands protectively. ‘Easy now.’

‘You startled me,’ Trassia said in reply, still protectively holding her only defensive tool aloft in case the stranger turned out to be a nutter.

The man looked her over, slowly, analysing everything. Then he smiled. ‘That’s a Fistlenewt,’ he said, pointing at her wand. Green eyes clashed pleasantly with lightly tanned skin and combed-back brown hair down to the shoulders.

Trassia nodded compliantly. ‘Yeah. My family brought me there. They said Ollivanders cost too much.’ So far he seemed sane.

He laughed at that. A masculine face sported a strong jaw. The nose was slightly crooked, and a pair of bushy eyebrows threatened to join in the middle if a pair of tweezers weren’t immediately called for. Still, the smile was real. ‘Well, that’s what we strive for, quality wands at affordable prices.’

‘The other kids always called it cheap, foreign-import rubbish. I always got teased for having a Fistlenewt wand.’ A shrug rolled off her shoulders as she looked it over. It was still a nice wand.

He shrugged in return. ‘Yeah, sure, Ollivander’s nephew might make all his from scratch, but what’s the point when they cost all your savings? Ours are still just as good, we just import them pre-made from other countries. It’s all legitimate, we have records for each wand we buy and sell.’ An Essex accent marked his tone. ‘Took us ages to get in on the main strip. Had to wait for that old coot to die before we could get an opening. Nephew doesn’t like us much.’

Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, I-’

He motioned to her treasured, underused tool. ‘May I?’ Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and waved a hand over the wand. ‘Hm, ten inches. Cherry wood, unicorn hair core, right?’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ she replied, receiving a cocky smirk from the man in return. Now came the questions game. Trassia lowered the wand. ‘It kind of looks like a pine cone to me. So I haven’t seen you in the shop, and I went there. There was just an older man, I guess from India if I’m any good with guessing accents, and a local lady that worked in the back.’

He nodded in response to that. ‘Yeah, my parents.’

‘Oh, okay.’ That shut her up. He seemed to be telling the truth.

The man ruffled his brown trench coat-turned-robes. ‘So I was locking up over at the shop and I saw you looking lost. You trying to get into the student housing?’

Now Trassia gave a nod. There was a lot of nodding today. ‘Yeah, I got accepted for lifestyle rehabilitation while I look for a job and stuff.’

A pursed lip and a pair of crossed arms changed the tone in a subtle fashion. ‘Oh I see, are you a muggly?’

There came that stupid term. Ever since the ministry cut all magical use outside of the magical world, living there was tantamount to living as a muggle. What really could she say to the truth? ‘Yeah.’

The man merely lifted his eyebrows for a split second and drew a much fancier, more expensive wand than her own. Golden inlay completely covered a green wand in complicated runes. Raised arcs left the shaft of the wand like little green and gold rainbows before rejoining at the base above the handle, like a bulb of garlic, or a little prison. Prying eyes accidentally caught an amused stare, and he smiled. ‘Dragon’s blood wood with a cockatrice feather core. You like it?’

There was another nod from Trassia. ‘It looks cool.’ Everyone had better, more rare wands.

He gave it a flourish before walking up to the gap in the buildings. The man tapped out a pattern. ‘Northwest, northeast, southwest, southeast.’ The tip of the wand touched four seemingly inconsequential points. After that was done, he raised it up and drew a line down the centre of the empty space. ‘North to south.’

At last it opened. The street widened, as if unfolding from the side of the buildings. Everything else moved aside to make room, until a completely new road existed.

Then there was success in some form. ‘Thank you so much.’  _ Top left, top right, lower left, lower right, then top to bottom. _ Hopefully the words weren’t part of it. ‘You pretty much saved my day.’

The man smiled. ‘Well, I see a lot from the shop, so it’s no big deal.’

It did bring another point up. ‘So how long have you been here for? I don’t remember you in Fistlenewt’s when I went in for my wand.’ In hindsight, that was an eight year gap in there that this guy could have shown up in. Maybe that was stupid.

‘I travelled with some friends for a few years so I could learn about wands in other cultures.’ Again, he pointed to hers. ‘Speaking of that, you said your wand reminds you of a pine cone? Funny you should say that. Yours is Scandinavian in design, modelled after the old forests. The lines symbolise the harmony of life and nature, hence how they intertwine. The projecting burs are actually meant to resemble a pine cone, so good on you. Troll know-how, and not the ugly, bald nightmares we have here that are so heavily inbred that they can’t add two and two, but the real trolls. Pure trolls. The ones covered in hair. They sometimes have tails, you know.’

‘Well, cool.’ This was a lot of conversation to reply to all at once.

‘You might like it there. It’s beautiful.’ He smiled, eyes fixed on hers. ‘You know, half-trolls just won the right to attend magical schooling. It was a groundbreaking turn in troll politics.’ Mister… something shrugged, flexing his mental muscles.

That made her wand sound a little better, but this was not the place for all of that, and far from the right time. ‘Cool.’ What could she really say to that? At this point she was kind of being held up in the street by a man giving her a lecture on foreign culture. It was late. Mom would be expecting a call. ‘Hey, um, I hate to sound rude, but I’m pretty tired. I should really go find my residence soon.’

Realisation hit the fellow like a train. ‘Oh! Oh, yeah, okay. Sure, yeah.’

‘Yeah, I mean, I’m probably going to be around here a lot more now unless things go badly, so yeah. I think you will.’  _ For better or worse. _

That did the trick. The fellow stepped back. ‘Okay, cool. See you, soon.’ One last smile was his parting gift before he finally wandered off, and glanced back along the way. ‘The name’s Amos!’

Manners were important. ‘My name is Trassia!’

Then at last she was alone. Now, the time had come to wander down what the train station map had said was a series of dark and unsettling streets. Almost by pure instinct Trassia cast that familiar old spell. ‘Lumens Trajectore.’ A beam of light flowed out from the tip of her wand, essentially turning it into a battery-free torch. It might not be as powerful as the Lumos spell, but it beat having what was effectively a stage light shining in her eyes a foot away, utterly blinding her.

So here she was at last, into the next section of the long and winding road that would eventually lead to the place she could just come to call her temporary place of residence. More modern houses took the place of old architecture, sporting contemporary if simple designs. Brick and mortar negotiated their way into wood and plaster, all of them tall and thin as books on a shelf. There were the equivalent of gas street lights here, albeit likely powered by magic. Even the road had smoothed to blended brick. It was almost muggle-modern.

One or two windows had lights left on. Occasional flickers of silhouettes by lamplight said that not everyone had to bed yet. A few young adults even sat outside on their stoops, smoking or staring idly into a glassy nothingness beyond the scope of matter itself.

So far it just seemed more or less like average university student housing. She still had the question mark curve and the pantless man to get past, though. Sure enough, there was indeed a fellow sitting outside on a stoop. Trassia hurried up the pace a little and avoided eye contact.

‘Hey,’ said the man.

Trassia quickly bowed her head. ‘Yup.’ She kept moving. There was nothing to speak of there. Nobody without clothes on was getting too close, and there was no way he was going to stay with her. It was someone else’s problem.

Everything seemed okay until the final stretch. Trassia had to stop and sigh. The map was right: A long, narrow corridor of walkway led on and on into the dark abyss. Only the light of a few windows revealed anything beyond her wand’s reach. It didn’t help that the narrow expanse was also rife with pea soup fog. This was definitely going to be remembered forever as Murder Alley. Jack The Ripper was definitely going to spring out at some point.

What choice did she have? In she went. One after another, she counted the large, grey, square cinder blocks that feebly passed for houses, or at least a near facsimile. The best choice was to go slow. According to her notes, it was the thirty-second house on the right. Who built these though really? Where else in the world would build weird and bizarre layouts like this and call it normal? It was no wonder her father bemoaned every visit to this side of the world. It didn’t even make sense to the wizarding community.

Twelve houses in and nobody had stabbed her yet, that was a good sign. Fifteen houses passed, then twenty. While walking, another thought crossed her mind, left to wander on its own in the slow crawl. What if someone created even more secret passages in this place? Warping space and time to fit new dimensions seemed to be child’s play, so theoretically someone could be living in a hidden underground city hidden right next door. Maybe that was how they hid important people- not in concrete bunkers, but in a completely compressed mansion next to the old washing machine sitting outside some dumpy shack beside a store that sold candles and meditation supplies. Who would question the infinite places that literally could be hidden. If there were tents that looked like small houses on the inside, then the possibilities were baffling.

Number thirty-two couldn’t come up fast enough. It looked the same as every other stone house on the seemingly infinite block save for a metal plate with its personalised number by the door. The girl heaped her luggage down on the doorstep and knocked. It seemed better than just barging on in.

Nothing happened. Trassia knocked again. The agreement said to arrive after midnight, because apparently daytime wasn’t how things worked around here. According to her now non-functional muggle watch, it was 88:88 in the AM and PM. It was after midnight, at least.

Everything else so far required a great deal of standing around, looking helpless, until someone took pity on the poor girl enough to do it for her. The thought still resounded deep inside: Maybe it had been the wrong time. Were the others outside because they got locked out?

A minute into the long and possibly pointless wait, Trassia whipped out a pair of earplugs. With a flick of her wand, they became little glass bubbles with ear fittings. A little box of Elfwood-brand matches was then magically metamorphosed into a miniature record player in a glass case. Music played when she pushed her thumb down on the box. Twenty-two hours of music was now at her disposal. Truly thankfully, It only took about ten minutes before a creak and a metallic wrenching signalled the opening of a door, right in the middle of Break Me Down by Witching Wood.

The best part of the chorus was interrupted by a squat, ugly little creature with long, pointed ears and a pointed nose like a banana in a limp sock. Little black eyes glowered up from lightly browned skin, with slicked-back silver hair. The being wore a fine blue suit tailored with care. ‘Name,’ it said curtly in high English. It was a goblin.

Now of all times Trassia’s brain chose to hit a snag. The girl took a second to pull her earphones out, still glowing with the sound of raw music as it filtered out. ‘Uh, was all she could mumble out.

The creature snorted irritably. ‘No room.’ It shut the door.

All Trassia could do was shrug in disbelief. ‘Uh.’ That could have gone better. What could she do now? Her head said to try the door. Her heart said to catch a bus home.

Her head was right. Mom would just tell her to anyway, if she were here. Trassia knocked on the door, and waited.

Then she waited some more. Music helped. This time twenty minutes passed, standing in damp fog of Murder Lane, before the creature deigned to reopen the door.

Again it glowered up from its three-foot vantage point. ‘I won’t ask a third time.’

‘Trara- Trasabarn- no, no, no, no, no- please. Name. Trassia! Trassia Barnes! Please don’t close the door!’

Prying eyes threatened to tear right through her. The response wasn’t good enough. He was still looking, right at her, into her. He needed something more. She’d messed it up and now she was going to be locked out. He just stared, waiting for something.

It had started. ‘I- I was confused and tried to- uh, the music was too loud and I was trying to turn it to, because I needed to hear but I was listening, and it just, with the door, I- I turned and you know there, because it had the second timing to know, you know, and there wasn’t an excuse but I tried, I really tried, so you know, the door wasn’t- locked, and I- try- tried but there were just people with no pants!’ It was still going. Now it incorporated hand gestures, in some vague fashion. ‘I mean, I caught the bus- the train! And I got dinged for trying to just ask and pictures won’t work. It’s not an excuse! I wasn’t going on the right but- the wand wouldn’t walk the door… way… London… street? Wouldn’t unzip, and-’

‘You’re late. You were told to be here by midnight. It’s almost two hours past.’

He was going to judge her for that. The message had said to come by midnight, not directly on the minute. Who had arranged that? There had been a long, slow train ride, and she had to walk over. Technically, she had set out around midnight.

The goblin beckoned her in with a finger. Trassia followed. Wood-panelled floors were immaculate. Elegant but drab grey wallpaper was striped with thin black lines and curling ivy print, like a monochrome home from an American home in the 1920s. Metal and wood stairs in the back-left corner led up to a second floor, then a third, and a fourth, and kept going. At some point she lost count as only darkness put a ceiling on her vision.

‘Your room 3-C-18. You will pay rent on time or you will be evicted. You will keep your shoes clean and not besmirch my floors like you just have.’

‘Oh, uh, sorry, I can-’

He snapped his fingers and a house-elf rushed out from behind the first door on the right, labelled “STAFF”. It was meek and skinny, almost emaciated. A large head sported a massive, pointed nose and oversized ears, also coming to points. Apparently that was popular in magical beings. The little creature wore a coffee bean sack and nothing else. As soon as it appeared, it looked at the floor and knelt down to start scrubbing Trassia’s muddy mishap from the hallway. This was definitely a house-elf.

Another one of them appeared from what was presumably thin air and politely but firmly wrested the travel luggage from Trassia’s hand, then vanished into nothingness. There was some little knowledge of these creatures rattling around in her brain. Dad loved to read up on everything magical. When she had been helping mom make kimchi one night, dad had wandered in with a book in his hand and proudly spouted off some curiosities. They served masters, just like slaves. She knew that. They worked at Hogwarts, too. The first-year memory of realising her things had been stolen induced a little panic until she found them all neatly unpacked around her bed in the dormitory. There was a good chance that the same thing had happened here.

The little bugger was probably unpacking her wardrobe right at this moment. There would be some confusion when it finds the spare couple sets of male clothing tucked in there, just in case.

The goblin carried on. ‘There will be no loud music, no talking in the halls above a whisper, no violence, no spell-casting of a destructive or disruptive nature, no law-breaking, no overnight guests or stay-ins, no romantic interludes, no entering any room except for your own without permission, and no indolence. If you stay in your room all day, every day, without a verifiable education or medical-related reason, you will be evicted. You may receive and review your mail in the post-boxes attached to your apartment.’ By the time he finished, they had reached the third floor. The landing branched out into over a dozen impossibly long corridors along the walls, each hall labelled with a letter.

Down hallways C they went, and up to door 18, on the right. The goblin stopped at that point and produced a massive ring of keys. Each one had a label and a number. A brass copy of number 3-C-18 was detached from a little clip and handed it over. ‘Any questions?’, he then said.

He’d said not to talk in the main foyer. Trassia meekly accepted the object and said nothing.

A toothy grin slit his grimace wide open, ‘Smart girl.’

Trassia only waited until the goblin wandered off back down the steps and out of sight before falling apart. The girl wound down like a toy soldier, expelling air and slumping over. She could have touched her toes. Long black-and-red hair dangled before her eyes, hanging everywhere like a curtain. She was in. This was a good start. Now she just had to avoid getting thrown out.

There was a key to try. She put it into the lock and it turned. That was good, it was a positive sign. It opened, too. Trassia paused when the sound of voices came from inside. Someone was in there, or multiple people. It sounded too human to be house-elves. There was also music.

Was this a shared apartment? Nobody had said. It was just cheap, affordable housing with a one-year limit on non-schooling residents. She had to know. Trassia pushed the door all the way open and leaned in. ‘Hello?’ Technically she was making noise from her room now, not the foyer.

The voices fell silent. There was movement. A face suddenly appeared at the end of a short hallway, attached to a body. It was most definitely human, that was for certain. It also had long, brown hair and held a glass of red wine.

‘Oh god, another one,’ moaned the woman. She beckoned to someone while downing her drink. ‘Kandé, the new loser’s here.’ A glance to her glass brought a frown to her face. The stranger wandered off, out of sight. The music died off.

The new loser let herself in. The key fit, and it was the apartment the goblin had led her to. It had to be the right one. Trassia crept in cautiously, clutching the straps of her backpack. Green floral print wallpaper stretched out across the room, expanded greatly past the narrow entrance. A large room played host to a carpeted living space with an old couch in a hideous maroon colour, seated next to an antique coffee table, both in the direct centre. A bookshelf with five books and a little table sat to one side, a record player on its surface. That solved the music query. On the far wall, little black drapes drapes covered a single window the size of a breadbox. It was far from exquisite, but it was an apartment. It served its primary function.

It was easier to see everything inside, as Trassia stepped off of the hardwood floor entrance and placed her presence onto the grey-carpeted floor. Nothing matched, at all. Anyhow, doors on the right and left walls presumably led to bedrooms. The left was open and the light was on, so presumably it was taken. A little kitchen hid behind the dividing wall on the left, closest to the front door. The room opposite was likely the one bathroom that everyone had to share. Having a builder for a father really made room layouts easy to read.

Among the sparse furniture sat a man with dark skin and short hair, poised on the couch. The woman stood by the record player. One hand held the glass while another poured most of a bottle’s contents into it.

‘So,’ said the woman, swilling her wine like an aristocrat. ‘Who are you, then?’ Green eyes lazily scanned over the intruder. Brown hair swayed out in waves, even when bound up in a high ponytail. A tight blue sweater and slim grey pants showed off a tall, delicate figure.

‘Trassia Barnes,’ said Trassia Barnes, almost uncertainly. She looked around awkwardly for signs of reassurance. There were none in this strange place.

The woman took a sip from her glass. ‘Charmed,’ she replied, haughtily. ‘Well, I’m going to assume you’re a muggly based on those clothes and the utterly confused look on your face. Let me guess: You just moved out of your rich mommy and daddy’s house and now you’re alone, scared, and broke but  _ oh, _ you so desperately want to practice magic because you’re  _ so so _ good at it and you really, honestly believe in your Disney princess heart that you can be the next Harry Potter.’ That tone could not be more mocking if it was delivered with a hammer.

‘Well, my family isn’t rich,’ attested Trassia. As for the rest, she had nothing. ‘I mean, I’m probably not the best at magic, at all, but I mean, I deserve the right to at least figure and try out the st- sort of… magic.’ Of its own will, her teeth conspired to rake across her lower lip.

Over on the couch, the dark-skinned man gave an unenthusiastic wave. ‘In other words, hello.’ He didn’t even look.

‘Hi,’ replied the newcomer. ‘Do I have the right apartment?’ At this point, it was not a sold notion.

‘If you have a key, it’s your new place,’ the man said calmly.

The woman wandered closer, one saucy step after another. ‘Wow, you’re hopeless.’ She pulled her ponytail loose, quickly covering a large mole over her left eyebrow. ‘My name’s Vanessa.’ Then she pointed to the lump on the sofa. ‘That’s Kandé.’

At last he sat up and turned around, putting a stack of papers down to rest on the coffee table. A hand shot out to shake. ‘Kandé Nahradi. This is my girlfriend, Vanessa Crane.’

Manners mattered, especially if she was going to be stuck with them. ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Trassia, shaking his hand. ‘I thought canoodling was forbidden. That’s what the goblin told me-’

Vanessa broke into a laugh. ‘Canoodling? I love that word, it’s so stupid.’

The couch man again translated. ‘Kaspar just likes to ruin everyone’s fun. What he doesn’t see or hear isn’t his business.’ A green sweater and a pair of jeans were all he wore. Bare feet were lazily rested on the table as he leaned back. ‘So where are you from?’

‘Starcross, in Devon,’ replied Trassia. It seemed safe enough. She removed her backpack and rested it on the floor.

Kandé nodded. Strong cheekbones and a chiselled jaw definitely weren’t lost on him. Blue eyes stood out, lighting up his whole face. His short, black hair threatened to turn into an afro, thick with curls. ‘Are you in school or on a one-year transition?’

‘Transition,’ replied Trassia, easing in a little. It wasn’t as hard to talk now. ‘What about you two?’

‘University,’ said the male. ‘Both of us.’ The conversation was locked and loaded now. With reckless abandon, Kandé climbed onto the back of the couch and sat on it, facing the inductee. ‘You got a plan? Do you have a job?’

Trassia had a shrug to give in return. ‘Not yet, but I have a lead on one.’

‘Good luck,’ he replied.

Vanessa sat down next to her partner and officially joined the discourse. ‘So I’m assuming you went to Hogwarts. What house were you in?’

At least this was common ground. ‘I was in Hufflepuff.’ Trassia leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.

‘Hah! I was in Ravenclaw,’ announced Vanessa triumphantly, and emptied her glass.

The man shoved her aside. ‘Be nice. Slytherin, myself.’ He at least offered a weak smile.

‘I’m always nice,’ Vanessa rebutted.

Kandé let out a quiet laugh. ‘Yeah, when you’re sober.’

This really didn’t involve Trassia. ‘So do I have a room?’ Her eyes darted to the closed door to the right. ‘I assume I won’t be sleeping on the couch.’

Vanessa snorted. ‘No, that’s  _ his _ bed tonight.’ Off she went as she stepped over him and plodded off into the bedroom on the left.

The boyfriend cocked his head back and forth in reaction, a dry grimace forming on his mouth. ‘Anyway, yeah, room on the right.’ He sat back down and shuffled his papers. ‘I have to study for this anyway. I have a two thousand word essay coming up on dark magical artefacts, so I won’t be getting much sleep anyway.’

Curiosity got the better of her. ‘What’s it for?’ She could just go to her bedroom and check for her things. It was simple. Here she was instead, dealing with this.

‘I’m trying to get a ministry job. It’s not easy these days. Need a lot of bloody schooling.’ Kandé sighed and began searching for his quill.

‘Well,’ offered Trassia, ‘good luck.’ Then at last, Trassia headed off toward her alleged room. ‘I’m gonna go set my computer up and go to bed.’

‘Wait, called the couch surfer. ‘You have MagicNet?’

Trassia gave due pause. ‘Yes, why?’ He was going to commandeer her computer, wasn’t he?

He stood up. ‘Can I borrow it?’

She knew it. She bloody well knew it. How could she really say no? He was there, and staring at hre, and… insistent-sounding. ‘I guess so, yeah.’ Trassia rubbed her arms sheepishly. ‘I mean, I’m still getting used to it. I don’t even really know how it works, so I still need to set it up. It might take a while.’

‘I can do that,’ offered Kandé. ‘I’m used to working with this stuff.’

Why was it so hard to say no?’ Trassia shrugged meekly. ‘Okay.’ She unzipped her backpack and retrieved her laptop. It might buy some good neighbour points, anyway. She handed it over into Kandé’s sticky paws. The thing had cost a fortune in summer jobs.

The man was quick to set it up. It sat on the table as a normal, every-day laptop with a silver shell. ‘Okay, first you have to activate the magic trigger with your wand. It should unlock the switch mechanism to change it over into its real form.’

This she knew.  _ Yes, okay.  _ It was late and the need to sleep was nudging at the back of her head. Instead she ambled over to the coffee table and tapped her wand to the laptop. The folding screen lock flipped around to a familiar Muggle and Magic switch. Kandé immediately opened the lid and rapped his knuckles together as it changed into a round mirror of a silver screen attached to the keyboard of an old typewriter.

‘So what you do now is tap the screen like this.’ He did. The mirror rippled into life, revealing the view of countless rows of shelves, each filled with little glass spheres. Two or three glowed into life and grew wings before taking off. ‘So this is the hub. Your computer’s attached to a bibliosphere- those things you see on the screen.’ He was really going to walk her through the whole process.

‘Cool,’ said Trassia blankly.

Kandé was blissfully unaware. ‘So this is connected to the Great Library Nexus. You can use it to look up anything they have on record. Just type a word or command and it will send a prompt to your bibliosphere to go find it.’ He started typing away. ‘Say for instance, if I type “cats” it will go off and look for all cat-related information.’ The screen showed the world on the other end zoom around as the viewing source zipped off and into a massive library. Rows of glass spheres on shelves all glowed with memories and facts. Little tethers of blue light linked out between bibliospheres and the glass balls mounted to the shelves. After a minute or so of searching, it came to a section titled “BEASTS” and found its way to cats. The bibliosphere tethered in, revealing a slew of cat-related memories and media.

All of this was really fascinating, honestly, but it wasn’t new. It was a two year-old device, she’d used it before. Admittedly, most of the time she just looked up spells or potion ingredients whenever they were off to the magical world for a few hours, but this was just not necessary. It had been helpful for looking up the finer details of the wizarding world’s transgender politics, though.

One inch after another, she crept toward her bedroom door. He kept talking. Sleep was calling so much louder. ‘Hey, that’s all cool, but, uh, I really should unpack and get to bed. I’m used to being up during the day. Listen, you can use the laptop if you want, I guess, yeah, I mean, I’m still so new and you- you- yeah. I need bed. Time. Sleep. Bed.’ Trassia knelt down and discreetly picked up her backpack and clutched it tight to her chest like a shield.

The fellow barely said a word. His focus was now on the commandeered computer, as he typed away and compared notes. That was that, then.

Trassia pushed open the unattended bedroom door and into-  _ her bedroom _ . She stopped hard in the doorway. Young eyes stared in awe. Black cat pillows sat ready and waiting, perfectly fluffed on dragon blankets and fuzzy sheep sheets. The jar full of glowing mushrooms sat on the nightstand where it always had. Her potions and herbology books had been neatly sorted in different sections from the fiction novels over on the shelf by the wall. All the little toys and trinkets had been placed artfully in corners for decoration. It didn’t matter that it was effectively a ten by ten food broom closet. It was a slice of home.

With childish abandon, she hopped sidelong onto the bed and bounced once, flopping down onto the cool sheets. Her dragon and cat knight plushie waited to greet her. That was definitely getting a snuggle.

A few quiet minutes passed before the realisation hit that her mother was waiting for a phone call. It had to be nearly three in the morning now, would she even be up? Dad was sleeping, too. He had that high rise to go to early in the morning. Maybe a text message was a better idea. At least then if she was awake, mom could place a call. It was less noisy. That sounded wise. Trassia whipped out her metal sphere of a communications device and cycled through the menu until the faux-magic 8-ball showed a picture of an envelope. That was the one.

She pressed it down with her thumb and cleared her throat. ‘Hi mom, this is Trassia, as if you didn’t know. I’m here, I made it okay. I’m laying in bed now, staring up at the plain ceiling. I miss the stars already. Anyway, I’m safe, and I miss you so much. Call me if you want to talk. I would have called, but I know dad’s asleep.’ A sigh betrayed the integrity of the message. ‘I hope you’re okay. We need to meet up soon.’

That was done. Now it would just take five to ten minutes for the Jibberus mannequin connected to the phone to process the call, type it up, have the print processed through whatever it did again in the part of the instruction manual she’d glossed over, and then send it through on her muggle-equivalent phone number.

She laid back and literally twiddled her thumbs. Then she got up and paced. After about two and a half minutes she checked the miniature brown footlocker by the foot of the bed. Despite having room for maybe five shirts and a pair of socks, the house elves had somehow managed to fit ten pairs of shirts and pants, one dress, three skirts, and several sets of socks and underwear into a compartment the size of a breadbox. It might never come out, but it fit.

It was no good, all she could do was wait. There was no television or movies. DVD players were out of the question and video games were a far cry when magic shorted technology out. She could only lay in bed and wait, in silence.

_ Or not. _ That was right, she still had her music player. Whether it was moral or not, it was normally impossible to get muggle songs on the thing unless they were audio-recorded and cleaned up later. Maybe it was not the most ethical thing, but It was all she could do for variety. The two worlds really didn’t intertwine so fluidly as hoped. To be fair, she did own a copy of every song she recorded. Was that still piracy? It felt like an awkward grey area.

Trassia switched her phone to vibrate and let the music take control.

It was 3 AM. Realisation hit. She’d forgotten her toothbrush.


	3. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With living quarters successfully acquired, the time has come to go out and get a taste of wizarding life- but one step at a time: Trassia needs a job first.

Morning rolled over like a steamroller. What had started as an awkwardly slow text message gradually crawled itself out into an hour and a half of phone calls. Apparently mom was going to mail her toothbrush over to her. The chances were that it was already here. That meant getting up and checking the postbox before her new flatmates did the job for her. At the end of the day, they were still complete strangers. It was just a toothbrush, but it was the principle of the thing. Trassia had to get up. Fatigue didn’t care what time the alarm on her weird phone-sphere was set to, it blared on anyway.

Wild black and red hair skewed itself this way and that across the bed. It all fell back into a frizzy, static-ridden mess down to her shoulder blades when she sat up and stared down her flat, little nose at the flashing ball on the bedside table. Just like any other proper alarm, it shut up when she smacked it with her palm.

Nine-thirty in the morning was wake-up time. Trassia rolled out of bed like a slug, or melted, either way. The same dark yoga pants and a black T-shirt covered her slender frame. Getting up and changing into pyjamas had been too much work. A lazy sniff said her clothes smelled alright enough. It would be fine for today.

A newer jacket would be nice, though. Trassia opened her footlocker and then stared down at the wooden microwave oven full of fifteen too many articles of clothes. It was a can of sardines. The coats and jackets were presumably the two L-shaped things packed into the corner. Really though, every article was machine-packed in with the spacing of a Tetris grid. There was no way a human could do that. A sliver of reluctance for the aesthetics softened the effort as Trassia yanked one free, destroying every ounce of organisation some poor house-elf had slaved over, then quickly picked the mess up and stuffed it all roughly back into or on the footlocker. That was one explosion of clothes that was never getting fixed. She left the lid open and walked away. It wouldn’t close now anyway.

There was a studded leather jacket calling her name. She grabbed her things, slipped into her boots, and headed off.

It was real. Home didn’t greet her past the garden shed of a bedroom. An ugly living room held an ugly couch and a dollhouse kitchen. A dark-skinned man sat hunched over her computer, growing five o-clock shadow.

He didn’t even look when he gave a wave. ‘Hey. Almost done. I’ll give it back when I get these documents copied down.’ Kandé typed and swiped away with obsessive focus, switching off with writing every minute or so. ‘I have to have this done and sent in by noon or I’m out of here.’

This time Trassia withheld a sigh. ‘Okay. Well, just let me know when you’re done.’

Nothing was said above the scratching of quills.

_Alright._ The kitchen looked bare, so breakfast would have to wait. _Oh, right._ While it was fresh in her mind, Trassia scampered over and checked the postbox for anything bearing her name. Sure enough, there was a toothbrush-shaped package in it bearing her name and new address:

“ _Miss Trassia Barnes_ _  
__3-C-18, Apartment 32, Dragon Heel Lane_

 _London, England_ ”

Her writing was always so neat. Mom made everything look clean and fancy. Trassia pocketed the package. It was easier than traipsing back, plus in the event that the world suddenly turned into a point-and-click video game, she’d be ready for some bizarre and inane task.

Out into the hallway she went. Light no longer shone dim in the corners of the walls, sourceless and oblique. A glass dome on the high, high ceiling now shone with the light of a chilly morning, illuminating fourty floors. It would be interesting to see what floor 27 and upward were titled. Nonetheless, up was not the direction of the day. Her boots were made for walking, and they wanted down the steps and out the front door.

First, though, the precious floor needed to stay clean. Trassia drew her wand and pointed at her boots. ‘Antedia.’ Like magic they were suddenly restored to factory settings, clean and un-scuffed.

Now she could go out.

The same fog awaited in the street. It clung to the walls like cotton. The half-Korean girl lifted a bemused brow and began to walk. So this place was Murder Lane all day and all night. The rest of the connected streets now sprung into life at the light of day. People moved around in groups, coming and going as they pleased. The bottomless man had thankfully moved on.

The street was opened, too, with some group of three passing through. Trassia sprinted along and rocketed by before they waved it closed. One less opportunity to make a fool of herself was not going to be passed up on.

Diagon Alley was no longer a ghost town. Countless people formed a moving maze she struggled through. First thing on the agenda was breakfast. Mom wasn’t here now to cook. Trassia slunk to one side of the street and tucked herself into a free corner. Now she could think. Three summers ago they’d spent that vacation in the magical world, just exploring around and having fun. There was Aurmott’s over in the new district, or the Red Cauldron Café over on Toad Road.

Who named these places though, really? Honestly, some Chinese takeaway sounded great right now. It wasn’t the best breakfast idea, but this was day one. Uncomfortable changes called for comfort food. There were plenty of places in the muggle world, but there had to be somewhere that specialised in it here.

It was time to wander aimlessly. All the basic roads were easy to figure out without wandering into somewhere shady and getting murdered or kidnapped like Knockturn Alley. Eventually Trassia found herself in some place by the name of Tendril Lane. Ivy grew wild over the welcoming arch and spread unchecked onto the Victorian walls of brick-and-mortar buildings. Time was told in the architecture. This place was newer than most of the magical city.

A little shop caught her eye. A white fence neatly circled a brown cottage covered in plant life. A smoking chimney pumped out traditional, plain old woodsmoke. It was something out of a fairytale. The sign on the door said The Moonlight Garden Café. This was the place.

The bell jingled like in a muggle restaurant when she walked in. Wood panelling covered the walls, which were decorated in old-school magical charms. Neo-pagan pentacles and astrological symbols dangled from the ceiling spinning slowly to the ambience of quiet meditation music playing from somewhere. Four little tables and eight seats were all it had for guest capacity. It was cozy. Nobody was behind the counter, but a beaded curtain to a back room looked recently disturbed.

Trassia escorted herself to the table in the back-right corner, of the four corners in which there were tables. It was hard to choose the most discreet and antisocial when the building was too small and tight to hide. Considering a pair of giggly teens had taken the one in the back-left near the counter, this was fine. It was still mathematically the farthest away.

The beaded curtain rattled again and a figure stepped out, a yellow dress nearly sweeping the floor as she moved. ‘Yes, hello! Hello!’ Long brown hair cascaded out in waves down to the waist, even with part of it tied up into a bun, with locks braided like a crown all around. Large, round eyeglasses framed a set of big brown eyes. Light mocha skin was now a little pale from sheltered indoor light. At least the woman knew how to use eyeshadow and highlights.

‘Welcome, my dear,’ said the hostess. ‘How can I help you? Please, have a menu and be at peace.’ The woman withdrew a wand from her person and waved it at the counter, levitating a sheet of paper over to Trassia’s table. The neo-pagan vibes were strong with this one.

Trassia picked it up and scanned the menu. Everything seemed basic enough. Fancy coffees and designer pastries were most of the selection. It took maybe twelve seconds for her eyes to lock in on a specific item.

‘What’s Black Starlight Tea?’ It sounded interesting.

The woman smiled. ‘Ah, that’s a house blend, and one of my favourites. It’s a mix of oolong, rooibos, jasmine, and moonlight astrelia, brought in directly from the mountains of Ireland, where it’s harvested around the roosts of dragons. I drink it when I’m in need of spiritual balance, my dear. Fortunately, I have a pot of it brewing now, would you like to try some?’

At the prices this stuff was going for, this had better be something amazing. ‘Okay,’ said Trassia with a polite nod. ‘Uh, I’ll also try a Positively Peach muffin.’

‘Wonderful, dear,’ the woman replied, and whisked the menu away. ‘Back in a moment.’

There was no denying the inherently “muggle” feel of the place. It screamed wannabe magic and zen crystal meditation. After a minute or so, the woman returned with a large glass mug and a muffin on a plate. She set them down, then sat herself down.

_Excuse me?_ ‘Uh, thank you,’ Trassia murmured, suddenly confused. ‘And hi.’

Her smile was persistent. ‘So dear,’ said the shop owner. ‘You’re a new face here. Where are you from?’

Was this standard practice with customers here? ‘Uh, I’m from Devon. I just moved to London, actually. I’m kind of new to… everything.’

An open mouth followed a knowing nod. ‘Ah, I see. You’re a former resident of the muggle world. What they call a… _that word_ , as it were.’ The hostess grimaced theatrically, her thin lips pursing tight. ‘I never liked that word, it carries too much hate.’ Her face hadn’t yet been touched all that much by the passage of time. She was maybe thirty-five years old.

Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, me too. It’s not right.’

‘My parents are muggles, so I don’t allow that word in my shop. If you have to say it, you’ll have to step outside.’

Once more Trassia nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘I figured you would. You have a very understanding face.’ Somehow that sounded like just a line. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Constance Trueharp.’ She extended a hand. The wrist was covered in bracelets.

In good manners, the teen shook it. ‘Trassia Barnes. This is my first day here.’ The tea wasn’t going to get any warmer. She took a discreet sip.

Those bespectacled eyes watched intently. ‘So how is it, dear?’

‘Actually really good,’ Trassia replied honestly. ‘It’s sweet. Is there honey in this?’

‘Oh yes. It was a recipe taught to me by Professor Trelawney, such a kind and dear woman.’ Constance’s eyes lit up as she spoke.

That was a familiar name. ‘Oh yeah, Trelawney. You took divination in Hogwarts too?’ That brought some memories rushing back.

‘Oh yes!’, exclaimed Ms. Trueharp excitedly. ‘I was one of her favourite students!’ It wasn’t hard to see why. From the dress to the personality, they could have been related. ‘I successfully foresaw the tragedy of Rufus Mooney.’ The mention of his name was a tragedy. She carried on regardless. ‘You see, in my third year, I began taking Divination and Professor Trelawney said I was quite gifted in the arts. My third eye is exceptionally open to the crafts.’ Suddenly her tone changed. She cocked her head like a spastic bird. ‘Although she did say not to get too weighed down by what she called the superstitious misapprehensions of the blinded world- to which I believe she was inadvertently slandering my mother, who was a seer, and quite a good one, despite her muggle nature.’ Constance certainly waved her arms around a lot. All that jewellery jingled like a wind chime.

Trassia merely sat and listened, sipping her tea and nibbling on her muffin. There really wasn’t much planned out on her agenda.

‘My mother,’ said the woman with a sheepish grin, ‘was Amanda Cobble, but she changed her name to Celeste Darkmoon, because every proper seer needs a name that commands respect. I dabbled with this when I was younger- I called myself Serenity Darkmoon for the first three years of school and it irritated the teachers and other students to no end- but after a while Trelawney told me not to bother too much with all of that. She said it’s the inner eye with which you see, not the outer ones. Anyway, my mother was travelling to visit the great voodoo priestesses in New Orleans, when she ran into my father. My father was an American. Elliott Trueharp. My mother loved the name. He was writing a book on the nature of psychic phenomena, and when they met they instantly hit it off. My mother says they fell in love while dancing during a Mardi Gras celebration. They moved back to England of course and settled down in the small, rural village of Bassenthwaite. Have you ever been?’

‘I haven’t, but maybe I should,’ muttered Trassia. The woman was still talking, so she kept listening. It felt polite.

‘It’s a beautiful place, I highly recommend it. The lake is gorgeous and the whole area positively glows with spiritual harmony. I feel very at peace there every time I go. Growing up there is probably what helped me clear my mind and centre my energy enough to become so skilled in my craft.’ Her costume jewellery was a constant eccentric rattle.

The two teenagers in the corner got up fast, squealing their chairs across the wooden floor as they did. ‘ _Blimey, she never stops talking,_ ’ said the boy.

The girl giggled. ‘Right? I told you this was priceless. What a sham. She’s a total fraud.’ The girl wasn’t as subtly quiet. She followed the boy out, still chuckling under her breath.

All was silent as a moment. Constance bit her lip under a stilled breath. ‘There’s two more customers gone.’ She sighed and toyed with a charm on one of her bracelets.

‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ murmured Trassia politely. ‘They can go hang out at the Leaky Cauldron, then, and get leered at by creepy old wizards.’

There came that birdy snap of attention diverted. Constance bolted her gaze back up to Trassia with a smile. ‘You know dear, I’ve always felt the same way about that place. _Bad energy._ It’s all those people that don’t take care to properly align themselves with harmony.’ She held up her hands in testimony. ‘Now I know I’m a bit of an odd duck by society’s standards, I won’t deny that, but that crowd in the Leaky Cauldron are the other kind of outsiders, the ones you never quite feel comfortable around.’ Constance leaned a little closer. ‘It’s a “scruffy aura” as I call it. They just can’t and won’t let themselves find peace. It’s too hard to get a good read on them, the place only attracts those that can’t find inner peace. Now, places like Knockturn Alley or Black Ash Lane, those at least you know where you stand when you go to. The types there are mostly there because they’re attracted to the dark energy that positively radiates from the whole area.’

‘My mom sometimes goes there for potion ingredients she can’t get in Europe.’ Trassia had already half-emptied her tea by now. It really was very good. ‘She always brings my dad though, since he’s big and scary to most people. He’s usually pretty good at reading danger.’

Constance smiled. ‘That’s good, dear, good move. I certainly wouldn’t want to go into those places alone. So- ah, yes, as I was saying; New Orleans. It’s a wonderful place, dear. I recommend you visit it sometime.’ The woman pointed with a theatrical hand to a picture behind the counter. A man and a woman danced together in the streets as people showered them with beads. ‘Those are my parents on one of their return trips back there. This was taken well before The Fix.’

‘I couldn’t even have a lot of magical stuff, growing up,’ said Trassia bitterly. She barely got away with a few chocolate frog cards and her charger.

‘Luckily I was born in the years before it, so I could still learn a great deal more efficiently. I can’t imagine how it must be for students in your day and age, now.’

The teen merely snorted in contempt. ‘Awful. I mean sure, it’s not like I could have practiced magic outside of school anyway because of the trace on underage magic, but I couldn’t even have anything practical. Any books with animated pictures aren’t allowed anymore.’

‘It’s like trying to fly with broken wings,’ said the woman with a solemn nod. ‘Well you know, the minister for magic says they’re trying to find a work-around for it. The ministry is looking into how other countries handle technology issues to see if anyone else has found a solution.’

‘It’s still unfair.’

Constance smiled and gestured to the near-empty cup. ‘Would you like a refill?’

It seemed to help, actually. ‘Yes, please.’

Ms. Trueharp got up and scuttled back into the kitchen behind the counter. She kept talking. ‘You just need to remember to find your centre, dear. That’s part of why I try to make time to go back to Bassenthwaite at least once a year, and every few years I save up enough funds to take a trip to New Orleans.’ She returned with the whole pot of tea and topped up the mug near to the brim. Then she sat back down. ‘There’s something about that place that always draws me back. It’s the place where my parents fell in love, so there’s a powerful energy there tying me to it.’

‘Huh’ was all Trassia could say to that, at least at first. ‘That’s actually kind of romantic. In- in a way. Y- uh, you know what I mean.’

Constance nodded knowingly. ‘There’s a romance to the stars that weave all our fates.’

Fate was a fickle term. Prediction of potential outcomes was one thing. Even a mathematical, scientific mind could divine the weather, so it all made sense, especially if a psychically gifted individual sensed and read the echoes of brainwaves and causal happenstance all around them, but the idea of a “fate” or a “destiny” of all things sounded wrong. Believing to be born into a world with one specific purpose and path was just ignorant. Happenstance could change anything in a moment’s notice and prophecies would have to be rewritten. Still, it wasn’t the right time to argue. The conversation was actually kind of nice right now.

This place was dead quiet, save for the ambiance. As much as it answered itself, Trassia had to ask. ‘So do you get many customers?’

Constance shook her head. ‘No, sadly. Not a lot of people appreciate the atmosphere… or the staff.’ Again she pursed her lips. ‘I figured the wizarding world would be more open to variety, but they only really seem to like the things they set rules by.’

Now there was a feeling that struck a chord. ‘Yeah. It’s hard to fit in, sometimes. I like it here, though. It’s peaceful, and I don’t know if this will offend you, but I like that it reminds me of the muggle world, like the little coffee houses you see. It reminds me of home.’

The still silence was shattered as Constance threw her arms in the air. ‘Oh no, dear! I’m not offended at all!’ At last she laughed. ‘It’s a fusion of cultures coming together! Sorcery and muggle ideals blending into one!’

‘Kind of like my parents,’ said Trassia. A smile broke free and fixed itself defiantly upon her lips.

‘Were they muggles too, dear?’ Constance now looked quite curious.

She shook her head. ‘Kind of. Mom is a witch. She came over from Korea. My dad is a muggle though, and he’s one of the wisest people I know. I mean, he’s a little awkward at times, but all parents are.’

The shop owner flew back into eccentric mode at the mention. ‘Oh, absolutely, dear. My parents embarrassed me all the time. My father would always introduce me as his little prodigy. He wanted me to go into journalism and be a famous writer like him. My mother always told me stories about spiritual creatures and had us pray to the spirits. I’d be so afraid to go to sleep at night, because I kept feeling like someone was in the room, watching me- of course, years later I did find out it was the guardian spirits of my great grandfather and my stillborn twin sister, but as a child, you don’t know these things. You just think that there’s a bogeyman waiting for you to fall asleep so it can eat you.’ She belted out a laugh.

‘I was always kind of curious about monsters and things when I was a kid,’ said Trassia. ‘I kept hoping I’d look under my bed and find a trapdoor to some underground world, or, like, something in my closet. I’d dream that I could open my window and walk out onto stairs into the sky. Just kid stuff, you know.’

‘Dreams are often very important omens,’ countered Constance. ‘A doorway opening to stairs can represent a great and sudden transition. Stairs going up could mean ascension into a higher spiritual state of harmony.’

The purpose of the topic had gotten lost a little. Trassia discreetly checked the time on her phone and drained her tea. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. I should actually get going soon, I have to go find a job so I can actually support myself, otherwise I’ll have to move back home.’ The girl pulled her coin pouch out and sorted through them. ‘Here, for two cups of tea and a muffin.’

‘No.’ The woman shook her head. ‘Just one. The refill is on the house.’ She took the extra and put it back in Trassia’s palm.

That seemed unfair. ‘Well then, here.’ She placed a sickle on the table. ‘A tip. Thanks again. Next time I swing by, I should show you the traditional stuff my mom makes- but not in a bad way, I like the tea here.’

Constance grinned wide. ‘I’d love to see. Please come back anytime.’

Trassia bowed out in traditional fashion and headed off on her way. That was definitely an interesting visit. Wow, could that woman talk, too. It really was time to get going, though. It was a fair walk back to Diagon Alley. By now it was almost noon. Meandering about aimlessly had taken its toll in time.

It didn’t matter that school was already in progress and the buying season was over: Diagon Alley was as packed as ever. Witches and wizards in quite a few different makes of clothing wandered the streets. One or two even wore jeans and jackets. It was definitely less common, though. The world had made it anything but hard to see at a glance who lived in the muggle world and who was local.

The target today was easy to find. Trassia followed the sound of merriment and mischief as it thundered out from a central force. What in muggle terms would have been an animatronic, was now a red-haired face atop a round window, with one arm magically lifting and and replacing a hat over and over. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes read out on a sign above the door.

She lingered quietly in the nook by the doorway. Instinct reached her hand for its phone and held it aloft. As long as her eyes were on it, nobody would be the wiser. She was just some girl checking her weird, magical phone. If anyone asked, her friend was inside and she was waiting- _no_. That meant she’d be reliant on someone coming out, and that could be tricky. She was waiting for a friend to show up, that way she could show her something cool she once saw inside. That worked better. In case it took too long, she could shrug, put her phone down, and just go in… or walk away. For flair, she could also throw out a quiet line, something like “I’m tired of waiting for her” or “I’ll just go on my own”. That worked. It made no sense if anyone wasn’t watching, but it was a good cover. Her eyes just had to stay on the phone.

This was it. She could do this. _Maybe._ A pause hit like a medicine ball to the solar plexus. Trassia took a deep breath and held it in. She’d been here before. This was all fine. That was as Travis, though. They knew that name, but they didn’t know Trassia. It was alright though, she was his cousin. That was the cover she’d given to the apartment owner.

All of this would have been so much simpler if there hadn’t have been a sudden reversal in gender politics in the last year.

It was now or never. Dad would have just walked on in and done this by now, but as a man- a big man. What would he say?

_Okay._ Trassia tucked her phone away and sighed. She had to let the air out eventually. It was time. In she went.

Immediacy was a nice word for such a delayed quest. It struck well, just like the sudden shock of an enchanted firecracker blowing up in her face. For a moment in time, white and red sparks coated the girl’s body like powdered snow. White sparkles formed a beard and curly hair. A red, sparkling hat and suit covered the rest. Half a dozen people glanced over at the very Asian Father Christmas standing in the doorway. It faded fast. In seconds she was Trassia again.

‘That,’ said a voice, ‘is our holiday line. Best to get in early.’ A buxom redhead gestured to a few errant fireworks still flying around. One hit a young woman, giving her antlers and a red nose. A dark-skinned man was suddenly an abnormally tall house-elf in a green hat and suit.

‘But it’s January second!’, said a customer, holding the demo model firecracker.

The woman smiled, flicking her fiery hair back. ‘Very early. You can have two Christmases this year! Be the envy of all your friends!’ Her Welsh accent lit up the air.

The man placed the firecracker back down and stepped away. ‘I think not.’

Broad shoulders gave a shrug. The redhead looked around the room until her eyes settled on Trassia. ‘How about you, Mr. Claus? See anything you like?’ She swept over in a hurry, grabbing a trinket as she did. ‘In the mood for some itching powder? Just a pinch and friends and enemies alike will be scratching for hours. Could you imagine patting someone on the back right before a job interview and sprinkling some of this down their shirt?’

‘Well, thats cool, but-’

‘No?’ Fiery red curls bobbed and bounced as she tossed it back on the shelf and snatched up a lump of something black and sparkling. ‘Peruvian instant darkness powder! Throw it down and you’ll immerse everyone in a cloud of darkness. Good for quick escapes or for shy wallflowers when you see that annoying guy who has a crush on you walking your way at the dance!’ She nodded with a silly smile. ‘Actually works. He ended up accidentally asking Felicity Spoons instead. They’re a couple now.’

Why was that name familiar?

‘Or, or… this!’ The woman scanned around for something else to appease. Bright green eyes lit up as she settled on a particular bauble. ‘Buttery socks! They look like normal socks and they come in all sorts of colours, but when someone puts them on, it’s like you’re on ice! Even with shoes on! Half-hour delay too, so you don’t know until it’s too late. If you wear cleats, you’re guaranteed to needle-scratch your way across the floor!’

Trassia threw up a defensive shrug. ‘I’d be more likely to buy them for myself and just skate across the floor.’

Two hands suddenly clapped down hard on the innocent teen’s upper arms. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve done that! Ah, you read my mind!’

The newcomer had to shake her head. ‘No, I just- my cousin used to come here a lot. Travis. I don’t know if you’d know him,’ Trassia said meekly. She definitely didn’t know this girl. She must have been new.

The seller shrugged. ‘Not me, just got hired last year. So what are you thinking? You find something in here you like?’

‘Actually,’ rebutted Trassia quickly, cutting through the sales pitch, ‘I came to apply for a job. Could I see the boss? Please?’

Her shoulders slumped as the woman deflated. Six feet of redhead unloaded a sigh, letting that upside-down turn into a frown. It still verged on a smirk. ‘Darn it. I’ll sell you something yet, mark my words!’

‘Maybe.’ Trassia took up the burden, bearing a smirk. The girl had tried. ‘Ron Weasley, right?’

There it was, the smile was back. ‘No, completely wrong. What makes you think that?’

Trassia resumed her shrug, throwing a dash of mild bewilderment into the mix. ‘I- I thought he was still in the job, of, eh, is George back from vacation?’

‘No,’ stated the woman, seriously.

‘Then who-’

‘You think I got multiple personalities or something? My name’s Ashe, and don’t you be forgetting it.’

_What? Oh._ ‘I meant I was looking for the boss… sorry.’ There came the meek folding of arms. Trassia took a step back.

Ashe raised an accusing finger, pointing at Trassia’s nose. ‘Father Christmas, right?’ Then she let off, jerking her head in the direction of a set of stairs. George is up in his office. Now be off with you.’ The smile lingered.

There was nothing left to do but be off, then. Trassia gave an obliging nod and headed into the shop. ‘Thank you. And my name’s Trassia.’

‘Trassia Christmas? Nice name, I like it! Very festive!’ Ashe snickered.

‘Barnes,’ the applicant corrected.

The lumbering six foot tall redhead raised one amused eyebrow. ‘Barm? Barmy? Trassia Barmy, eh? The boss is gonna love that! You already fit in around here!’ At this point she was calling back across the shop, in front of everyone.

Half a dozen people glanced back and forth, eyeing up the two speakers. Trassia lowered her head and walked on, disappearing into the shelves. _Thanks, so much._

This was no unfamiliar place. At least once a year on the annual shopping trip to get school supplies, this had been a popular haunt. Even if she never bought anything, it was fun to browse, and dream. So many rows of colourful products lit the place up like a carnival. Rows upon rows of toys, games, silly clothing, and novelty items were stacked in weird wizarding fashion up endlessly on the walls, many needing ladders to get to. Here and there, empty, black portraits with simple frames hung on the walls.

Trassia slipped by and up to the stairs. Up they went, twisting and turning, branching into offshoots and false leads all over the place, reaching a second a third floor, then even higher, up to a glassy, domed ceiling. She slipped by some passing patrons. The office of Ron Weasley, Manager awaited at the top floor. Next to it was another office. George Weasley, Manager waited. That was the one. An empty black picture frame hung on both. Those things were everywhere. She paused yet again outside. It was the knock that decided a future. 

Dad would just walk up, knock, and be confident. That was easier said than done. There was still time to just back out and go home. It didn’t have to churn her stomach. Dread didn’t have to turn into humiliation when they said no to her. She would still have to walk past that girl at the door. At least being told “no” beat having to make it look like she had given up, like a coward. This wasn’t going to be easy.

A gentle fist rapped quietly on the door. Here went nothing.

There was a moment’s pause, then a flash of red popped into sight. A handsome, young face leered out playfully from the picture frame on Ron’s office.

‘Who are you, then?’, asked the portrait, smirking a mischievous smirk. Blue eyes watched the girl’s every move. He had to be maybe seventeen years old. He was cute.

‘Hi, uh, Fred.’ _Wait,_ he had no idea who she was. ‘It’s Fred, right? That’s the right twin?’

The fellow offered her a friendly wink. ‘The one and only.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Don’t believe Georgie, I’m the handsome one.’

Trassia smiled back at him. ‘I believe it.’ He wasn’t hard to look at. ‘I’ve come to ask for a job.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Agh, another one,’ he teased. ‘Just a mo’, wait right here.’ The young man in the portrait walked out of view.

A minute later, the opposite door opened. The young man returned as well. Age differed, but never divided. George Weasley stood on the right, arms crossed. Mussy red hair defied his age, displacing faint wrinkles and smile marks. For almost fifty years old, he didn’t look it. A plaid yellow jacket with blue trim lost vertical hold like an old television, literally sliding its colours all over the place- like magic.

‘So,’ said the manager, his arms crossed. ‘You want a job, eh?’ In place of his left ear was what looked like the side of a miniature house, complete with a little roof.

Trassia gave a shy nod. ‘Yes sir. My name is Trassia Barnes. I- my cousin, Travis, he- he used to work here. Well, not work. Noble, Travis Noble. He smuggled your products into the school for you, if you remember.’

That rang a bell for the owners. ‘Oh yeah, old Troublesome Trav,’ said George.

‘How is No-Good Noble these days?’, enquired the younger twin, mock-crossing his arms.

She held a sigh in hard. ‘He’s… good, I guess. He’s off living with his parents.’ That sounded good. ‘He’s really not going anywhere.’ No, actually, that sounded bad. “Travis” was her job reference here, he couldn’t sound like a loser that washed out. ‘At least, not for a while. Time off from school. He had it pretty bad, I guess. We really didn’t talk much.’

He’d heard enough. George invited her into the office and sat down at his desk. Immediately his feet were up and the soles of his sticking shoes were shown off. His suit camouflaged itself to take on the colour and consistency of his chair.

Up on the wall behind him, the younger twin sprinted into the frame of a portrait of an identical office and mirrored George’s movements.

Trassia followed the boys in and took a seat in what was hopefully a safe chair. Shelves full of products covered the walls. Countless products eagerly popped or bounced in their cases. Something in a glass box went “ding”. A few of the curiosities weren’t even for sale on the store shelves.

Before anything else, she pulled a sheet of paper out of her jacket and placed it down. ‘I brought a resume. I hope it’s okay. It’s printed on muggle paper and all that, I hope it’s okay.’

Mr. Weasley just smirked and picked it up, not uttering a word. He scanned it over and then glanced her way. Trassia fidgeted.

He lifted a lofty brow. ‘Happy Snappy Turtle Home Cleaning?’ The ghost of a grin lingered on his lips.

Trassia gave an eager nod. Did he like it or was that stupid? ‘Yeah. My- my aunt likes turtles, a lot. She’s really detail-oriented and, and she hired- hires me for the summer sometimes over the summer. She, uh, she, she taught me a lot- to clean. Really yeah.’

The smile widened. George kept reading. ‘And you worked for your uncle in construction, eh?’

She nodded a little too long and enthusiastically. ‘I learned a lot. I mean, I- I dunno what it’d apply to with and, well, you know how the money is with working. I mean if I can- I know the money. Counting. Change. Cash and change. I- I can work a till.’ Good enough.

By now a snicker had escaped and begun to ravage his shoulders. A one-sided smirk broke out broad. ‘I should hope you’d know the money-cash-till thing. Don’t need you handing out buttons instead of knuts.’

‘Well I dunno about that,’ Trassia muttered under her breath. ‘If they were really fun buttons that screamed or exploded when you pressed them.’

The owner glanced to his artful counterpart behind him. ‘Screaming, exploding buttons? What do you think, Fred?’

‘Already got an idea for it,’ the picture said back, taking notes from his own desk.

Trassia kept babbling. ‘Or you know, something like joke food that screams and begs for mercy when you try to eat it, too. That could be funny.’

‘Last Rites!’, exclaimed Fred excitedly.

George pressed a finger to his lips, suppressing a laugh. ‘So why haven’t we seen you around here?’

This was something she had an answer for, this was okay. ‘Uh, I moved in with my aunt and uncle in the last year of school so I could stay in the country. My parents, they… moved. I don’t talk about it. Travis told me about how he’d smuggle your stuff to Peeves, said you had a sort of working agreement there. I would have loved to, but I wasn’t really… yes. I had- agh. I wasn’t there around the time you- they- I didn’t. Plus Peeves put a piece of fever fudge in my dessert one day and I stopped liking this. The game. Smuggling. That.’

Things suddenly got serious. George removed his feet from the desk and sat up straight. ‘Why so nervous? You’ve got No-Good Noble’s jackhammer stammer.’

Uh, wait, no. This was not good, what was he implying? ‘Uh, I- I- I- I- I- hah… I just… spend some family time with him while I was out and abroad, in- in the house. Next to room. His room. I mean I had a room and he talked and I listened and it… I got the family stammer.’

By now the laugh was unstoppable. George’s shoulders heaved up and down as the silliness washed over like a tidal wave. ‘Nervous?’

‘A bit,’ she admitted.

Without another word spoken George reached into his desk and pulled out a box of blue cough drops. Trassia watched silently as the man rattled one loose and popped it into his mouth. A few seconds passed.

Fred’s head collapsed into his hands with a broad grin.

‘Your brother- your, uh, your, you… your uh, thing, fam- family member, distant cousin, well, sort of distant, in a close way, but may- maybe you’re cl- close, close, close enough, your br- cousin, that’s the word, cousin.’ George began to sputter and stammer like a nervous drunk. ‘Seven years of listening to- to- to his, his… silly rambling, in a way, you know it’s all relative. Related? You don’t, you know. It’s all, the sort of thing, you know.’

‘We call them Stammering Sweets!’, Fred translated. ‘Inspired by your cousin!’

George merely nodded.

‘Great for speeches and eulogies,’ added Fred helpfully. ‘Just offer your friend a lozenge and it’s game over!’

Then Trassia actually giggled. ‘Grandma’s final moments will never be the same. You did that after him? I never knew.’

Fred nodded. ‘He’s a good old trout.’

She could only shrug at that. ‘You’re the only ones that think so, then. Everyone else hated him. He hated him.’ _Past tense?_ ‘I think he still does.’

George shrugged. ‘He’s o- okay in my- my book.’

Fred whipped out a novel. ‘In fact, we wrote a new book just for him!’ It was then tossed aside in comic fashion.

The living owner gave the young lady an upturned nod. ‘S-so which house did you get- you find sort, sort of… which school house?’

That made sense, actually. ‘I was in Hufflepuff,’ replied Trassia. ‘You know, the house for people with no discernable character traits?’ A little smile dared them to take the bait and laugh.

Both the twins got a chuckle out of that. ‘Ah, good old Hufflypuff,’ said Fred merrily.

‘S- salt- salt of the earth people,’ said George. He spat out the candy.

Both of the twins looked at each other. ‘Or at least home of the salty.’ Both their voices chimed in unison.

Maybe, just maybe she was starting to have a little fun. ‘We lost the house cup every year I was there. The closest we got was my fifth year, when we got second. Every time it was Slytherin or Ravenclaw.’

‘It’s just not the same without us there to bring home the gold, eh Fred?’, said George. Without any warning, a cuckoo sprang out from the little box on the side of his head.

Trassia scrabbled back out of her chair like a cat on a hot tin roof. Both the twins burst out laughing.

Don’t worry,’ teased George, ‘your appointment isn’t up yet. Sit down.’ She did as told. Then he continued. ‘So what else have we missed at Hogwarts?’

Fred leaned in against the “screen” of the picture. ‘Yeah, any exciting scandals?’

The young woman offered a shrug. ‘Well, not really. You know about Rufus-sodding-Mooney. He won the Triwizard cup, he impersonated Professor Mantacora and stole the Ring Of Tatvalla, all that drama.’ She couldn’t but roll her eyes.

Fred and George shared a knowing nod. ‘Ah, Rufus,’ George said. ‘He comes in here sometimes, buys all sorts of tactical prank gear. We can always tell when he’s got something planned when he stocks up.’

‘We had a massive boom in love potion sales when he was still in school. All the girlies trying to get a date.’ Fred pulled an abacus out of his fully-functional portrait desk and began adding fictional numbers.’

Trassia sneered. ‘Yeah, well, Tatyana Roschenko managed to drug his pumpkin juice and ruin his relationship with Sinestra Marrowbone while they were still dating.’ That was enough about him. There was more to tell, if they wanted to hear it. ‘Oh yeah, did you hear? Filch got married.’

Fred fell out of his painted chair. George wasn’t far behind. ‘What!? Nasty old Filch?’ George pressed for more. ‘The old caretaker? Evil? Has a cat named Mrs. Norris?’

The half-Korean girl shook her head. ‘Mrs. Norris passed away before I got to go there. There’s a plaque up on the wall dedicated to her. All the students keep vandalising it. The man polishes it eight times a day, I swear. He makes it shine like gold. Everyone thinks that’s what pushed him and Miss Pince together- the librarian.’

There was another conspiratorial eyebrow-waggle between the shop owners. ‘Ah well, good old Filchy, good to hear he’s getting on in life. You know, I kind of miss him.’

Both the twins smiled. ‘But he doesn’t miss us!’ Again their voices harmonised.

Trassia carried on. ‘It’s worse now. The two of them stay up all night, holding hands and looking for students to yell at. And the last year I was there, they’ve got a junior caretaker now, and he’s _awful_!’

The two were hooked on her every word.

‘Mr. Munn. Mister Gregory Alistair Munn. He’s got long black hair that he never combs, so it’s all curly and greasy all the time, and he’s got a glass eye!’ Trassia stood up and pointed at her left peeper for emphasis. ‘And a gold tooth- I kid you not. He’s like Jack The Ripper crossed with a pirate. He’s got a literal _team_ of trained pet ravens and he has them everywhere, so nobody’s safe. They watch everything and report back to him. Filch personally picked him out and’s been training him!’

This required a visual example. She ruffled her black hair and scruffed up her coat. A touch of eyeliner doubled for a gold tooth. Black was close enough, it told the story. Trassia stood sideways, hands clasped tight behind her back. ‘Oh my. Oh deary me, oh dear. What ‘ave we ‘ere? I think we see a student outta bed, we do. Isn’t that right, ‘Enrietta? My good girl. Who deserves a treat, then?’ She pulled a pinch of nothing from her coat and fed it to an imaginary bird on her shoulder. ‘Now as for you… what kind of a troublemaker goes out after dark, tryin’ to cause mischief? Tryin’ to cause may’em. Let’s just see what’s in store for you, shall we?’ She let slip a flash of tooth. Predatory instinct filled those eyes. It lurked in the smile.

Then Trassia was Trassia again. The less than pleasant taste of eyeliner was wiped free of her tooth. Her hair was captured to its smooth, silky state. The girl sat down. ‘And I swear his glass eye is magic or something. He’s made it no fun to be a miscreant.’ A sigh calmed her. ‘Not that I was, but I mean, what a waste of good fireworks and Skiving Snackboxes when he’s around.’ Really though, she had to give credit where it’s due. ‘But he did risk his life to save Rufus and Victoria Parker when the Candlers attacked the school, and he really didn’t have to, so I don’t know if he’s all bad.’

Both the potential employers just sat and listened at this point. Occasionally they took notes.

‘Personally,’ mused Trassia, ‘I think he used to be a member of the Candlers. I don’t have any solid proof, but when Filch isn’t around, he’s really good with magic, and he was really good with a sword. He knew exactly where the Candlers were attacking from and was right on them from the get-go the moment they showed up. Nobody believes me, but then again, nobody talks to me.’ The black-clad girl shrugged. ‘I overhear a lot of things.’

George stared right through her. About twelve seconds later he came to. ‘Yeah, sorry, we were just working on ideas to bamboozle the new caretaker. How do you feel about infinitely-extending hands? Shake them and they don’t let go. It could follow you down the corridor!’

They didn’t hear a word. _Oh well._ ‘I love it. Imagine the mess you could make at a party or a convention.’

George puffed himself up excitedly. ‘Sorry sir, it seems I’m a bit tied up at the moment!’

Fred jumped into the fray with his own thoughts. ‘How about inflatable bird seed? I’ve half a mind to see some raven balloons.’

‘For you, half a mind _is_ a full mind,’ countered George playfully.

The younger twin only laughed. ‘Yeah, but she likes me better.’ He pointed an accusatory finger out of the frame and toward Trassia.

With a final shared look, George and Fred hopped from their chairs and dashed off. The painted man left his portrait. George merely sprinted away.

Trassia sat in the chair, staring at the empty doorway. What was there to do? She pulled out her music player and popped in her earphones. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. Two songs later, she pulled out her phone and started writing a message to mom.

A tap on the shoulder broke her focus halfway through. A cuckoo chimed. The shadow of George loomed over her. All too quickly, Trassia pulled the earphones out and stashed away her phone.

‘By the way, you can start on Monday,’ said the man. Crazed inspiration dazzled his eyes. A second later he was back out the door. Cries of an “eye-watering” something reverberated back.

This was it. It really happened. Breath didn’t come, her lungs had locked up. They really said yes. Dread eased off as it rose like a hot air balloon, mutating in the chest. That tingle sparked its way up her neck, into her cheeks. She had a real job.

Laughter forced its way out for a quick moment before she clapped a hand over her face, and then another. It worked. Trassia Barnes had a job. Now she had to be a weenie and text her mother like a good shut-in to brag about it. She whipped out her phone once more and tapped away into a tidal wave of text. Mom would probably find it a bit odd that the message suddenly took a hard right turn at “-in for a job interview right now. Kind of I GOT THE JOB!”, _but hey,_ that was life. Nothing was entirely predictable.

A realisation hit her: What was she doing, sitting in their office? She could probably see herself out. Trassia lifted herself quietly from the chair and shuffled out. There wasn’t a sign of the two. The portraits were empty. All that was left was to trounce down the stairs, past two girls shocking each other with hand buzzers, and past a boy buying joke howlers.

She actually got to the door before there was an interruption. ‘Hey, Father Christmas! How’d it go?’ She towered over the 5’7” Asian girl as she slunk up beside her.

Trassia nodded. Not even weirdos could kill the high. ‘Good. It went well.’

‘Yeah? Good to hear. Maybe I’ll be seeing more of you around here.’ Ashe bopped her gently on the shoulder with a fist.

The memory of the interview played on a loop. Her mind was elsewhere. ‘Count on it,’ Trassia replied. _Just like that._ She walked away, and out into the light of a new world.


	4. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having secured her job and gotten a taste of success for once in her life, Trassia basks in the glow of a new day, and a new life. Some things on the horizon are not so beautiful, though.

The more it happened, the less imagination it required to believe. One text message dragged out into two, then three, then an hour passed. To be fair, at an exchange of roughly seven to ten minutes per comment-and-reply, that really wasn’t much conversation to put stock by. At best it amounted to a long, lightheaded walk through town, barely looking up at the road ahead while waiting to hear what exactly came after “Please remember to set your alarm in the morning for work and make sure you sa-(1 of 2)”.

Trassia glanced up from her ridiculous lag-in-a-ball and looked around to what was apparently not Diagon Alley. She’d walked a bit, sure, but not that much, really. Brown eyes glanced around for signs of a familiar landmark. Smoothed grey stone formed a solid, cohesive unit of road, not joined or linked, Either someone had carved it out of an entire mountain or it was magic at work. Ornate cobblestone walls divided the common passers-by from the lush and well-kept lawns spread out before high cost homes. Little stone castles and mansions easily denied the presence of anything less than a six-figure income lifestyle. Actually, in galleons, how much would that be? Trassia shook it off. Evidently she was lost.

A metal signpost boldly declared that this was Blaise Street. That name was oddly familiar for some reason. She was lost in the rich part of town. Mom would probably know this was, but having to rely on mommy and daddy for everything wasn’t really the best adult decision. She would live. Trassia tucked her phone into her pocket along with her hands, and strolled along with what hopefully came off as a casual nature.

Maybe that was a bit hard when she was wearing a spiked leather jacket and punk boots, walking past wizards in business suits and dress shirts. Women in fancy blouses dragged autonomous Quick Quotes Quills behind them, floating and taking notes as they power-walked down the street, talking out loud and gesturing to themselves like jerks. This was the yuppie neighbourhood. Trassia sighed. She looked like she was trolling for houses to burgle. Maybe this was a bad idea. She walked a little faster.

Next up was the spectacular Lockhart Plaza. A gloriously large fountain appeared to be made of gold- real gold, too, not just gold plate. It had become easy to tell, when it had that creaky, old, tarnished look like coagulated urine. Gold plate and other falsehoods always looked too shiny and bright yellow. Multiple tiers bounced and spouted out water, thinning like a confectionery display stand until it reached a silver statue on top, not gold for some reason. The figure of an aged wizard with a long beard stood and stared wistfully from his watery perch. Occasionally he rested his finger to his mouth or looked utterly surprised at something unseen. Magical statues apparently did that. Trassia hung about for a bit, watching until it played itself out of autonomous reactions.

Nothing was quite as fancy as Blaise Street, but it tried. White-walled buildings with high roofs closed in around the large, circular plaza, bottling it off into its own private territory. Dutch-style external frames gave every shop and house its own personal little touch. Most of the windows were covered with curtains. If this wasn’t new, it had definitely changed. Magical London had expanded a lot since she was ten.

Square stone roads happily accepted the presence of her boots. Nobody judged here, even if the mouth of the rich neighbourhood did feed out into the commons. The upper class mingled with the middles and the lowers with fluid ease. If this wasn’t the centre of Magical London, it was definitely a hub. There was a good chance that there was a portal to the muggle world hidden somewhere here, likely out of the way and utterly unimportant.

That seriously begged the question of what a witch or wizard did if they forgot how to get through and got stuck in the muggle world. In the olden days, someone could just apparate back in as long as they were competent enough to know how and didn’t end up inside a wall or a passing pedestrian. That was rendered impossible now thanks to the anti-infiltration measures in place. A person that forgot the insanely obscure means of getting in or out was effectively screwed. What would they do then? If they were born in the magical world then they definitely didn’t have any identification or paperwork. They sure as shorts on a pole dancer didn’t have a muggle bank account or any idea how to operate one. It was hard to preach muggle unity campaigns when the two worlds were now completely separated. There was no more popping in and out of muggle London to get to other magical locations anymore.

None of that mattered at this exactly instant in all of cosmic chronology. Right now there was an ice cream stand with her name on it. Trassia cut across the street and past a trio of young adults laughing and doing basic magic tricks on the lip of the fountain, around a woman with a two-headed dog, and up to a sales clerk promoting his edible wares.

An anonymous girl purchased a little bowl-full, licked her every-colour-and-texture-under-the-sun ice cream, and gagged on the taste of fresh asphalt. Her friend giggled. The consumer changed her tone quickly when it shifted flavours to watermelon bubble gum.

A large selection presented itself before Trassia. The official Bertie Bott company logo ensured this was a legitimate kiosk selling approved wares. There was more than just ice cream. The old-fashioned beans were figuratively alive and well. Next to it were old-fashioned glass cola bottles full of every-flavoured juice. That sounded promising. Scent-changing perfume seemed to be a big seller. There were soup flavour packets, too, as well as drink additives, and more packets of every-flavoured… _ah_.

The woman at the counter followed her eyes and smiled. ‘Interested, dear? Fun for couples. I’m sure a pretty girl like you has a boyfriend to try them out with.’

Beet-red blush burst into bloom across young, innocent cheeks. Trassia clapped both hands over her slacked jaw. ‘Uh, um. I- I- I- I just- I just came for ice cream. I just wanted to see. Just ice cream.’

With a bit of a laugh, the woman handed over a little paper bowl full of ice cream and Trassia surrendered a galleon. It had better be worth it. She hadn’t just embarrassed herself and shelled out a fortune in order to taste the glorious flavours of armpit and wet dog.

The blush slowly died away as she turned her back to the whole affair and set into her treat. It was justified, she just got a job. Sure, it helped that she had a foot in the door thanks to “Travis”, but that was how employment usually worked. She had an apartment, mom and dad supported her, it was a nice day, this was right for once. Things were okay.

Trassia dipped the wooden scoop into the paper bowl and ran her tongue across the taste of lavender soap, then winced. It wasn’t _terrible_. The next taste was cardboard. Again, it was bearable in a pinch. The third was a winner. Sweet success today tasted like pear-flavoured penny candy.

Ten minutes later, Trassia looked up from the taste of industrial plastic and watered-down milk to the sound of excited shouting. Huddled in a corner like a homeless teenager, she kept eating from the quiet comfort of her earphones and music as the world sprang into action all around her. Old-fashioned cameras ignited their flash cubes all around as wizards and witches apparated in and swarmed the entrance to Blaise Street. Over and through the crowd, platinum hair stood out in glimpses, next to dark, ruffled hair and a set of spectacles.

_Wait._ Sudden willpower to care rose Trassia to her feet with vigour unknown. That scruff was familiar. Ever so casually, she wandered on over in a wayward fashion and neared the sudden crowd and removed her earphones. When it got too unruly, she stepped up onto the fountain’s edge for a better view. So did half a dozen others. At least she could see.

Camera lights did nothing to hide the echo of years before the glory. A lightning scar faintly stood out on a bold, handsome face. Round glasses illuminated bottle-green eyes, letting them glimmer like gems in the flashes. A fine suit lended an air of authority, and still even then it had come loose and scruffy. He made it work. Wand drawn, he took a moment to compose himself and look around before he faced the crowd.

Her voice beat her to it. ‘ _Harry Potter,_ ’ muttered Trassia. That was the man that saved the world.

How long had it been since he fought the most powerful dark wizard in the world and ended a war? Prophecies rendered him the chosen one. When he survived an inescapable death, not once but twice. Needless to say, it was hard not to stare. Pictures didn’t do him justice, even if they were animated to move just like him.

Then there were some prats beside him. Short, combed-back hair had come loose and stood up wild and stylised in bold platinum over high cheekbones and an angular face. Brilliant baby blues darted around frantically as the young man panted through gritted teeth. It took a moment to notice the blood trailing down his nose and across his teeth. A black eye slowly began to form around a fresh bruise. All cameras honed in on the young and fabulous Rufus Mooney.

A drawn wand pointed at each and every face that neared too close. Potter quickly slapped the boy’s arm down to his side and muttered something unintelligible under the din of the paparazzi. Rufus shouted something back, only to have it dismissed with a calm wave of Harry’s hand.

A voice was heard this time. ‘Everyone back off! Just calm down and take a step back! This is official business!’ Harry Potter cast his presence across the crowd. Frustration soured those beautiful greens. The press was still the press. People only leaned in more aggressively until Harry raised his wand.

Hogwarts had really dropped the ball. Whatever spell he cast emitted a brilliant, serene sunset red that spread out like a sphere had managed to not only silence the crowd but utterly bewilder Trassia. He did that cheating thing where he didn’t say the name of the spell, so it was impossible to figure out how to replicate it. Everyone now trapped in the expanding sunset sphere stilled to a crawling halt. Movement was hard when the air was like jelly. Nobody could talk. Breathing was magically fine, because magic could somehow distinguish, but vocal emanations were like trying to talk underwater.

In the centre of the bubble, the world seemed to move normally. Harry placed a hand on Rufus’ shoulder and pointed at the crowd. Rufus shook it off violently, raising a warning hand in return. Then a brown-haired girl with icy-blue eyes clung to the boy, forcing a sigh from him. At last he calmed.

A few words were exchanged before Harry and Rufus before the boy clenched and unclenched his fist a few times and looked around. Wand in his left hand, he pointed through the faces. Rolled-up sleeves of a white dress shirt proudly exposed his demon marking, but that was nothing new. On the inside of his left forearm, a tattoo of a black candle rose out of a hollow-crowned skull, burning with a brilliant black flame on the wick. The fire moved like an animated news picture or an enchanted portrait.

He was the same boy from school. Green dress pants had been exchanged for blue, probably to match Her. Victoria Parker hung off of him, his little Ravenclaw girlfriend. A blue sweater and black jeans defied wizarding tradition. Long, brown hair flowed like silken chestnut waves over emerald green eyes and a pointed little nose. Aside from a few scratches and bruises, she was a delicate, pretty little thing- or at least some guys thought so. Her hand on his chest stole the fire away from his eyes.

At last, with clear sight, he looked around. For a split second his gaze lasered clear through Trassia on his way across the crowd. Ice splintered like cracks down her spine. Every vertebra pulsed with frozen lightning. All three of the figures conferred for a moment, and then Rufus shook his head. Victoria followed his motion with one of her own seconds after. Potter then pulled out a red and gold phone sphere of his own and placed a call. His looked more expensive than Trassia’s by about a hundred galleons. It also picked up immediately.

By now the crowd of jellified watchers was beginning to worm their way toward the edge of the sphere. Trassia only watched from the fountain. Curiously, the water pooled like a balloon in the air. That would be interesting to watch the results of when the spell ended.

Harry Potter and his new posse of young celebrities walked out of the bubble without any problems, moving their little pocket of reality through the jelly ball and out. It closed up behind them. Two more ministry officials appeared from the magical abyss of literally anywhere else and joined the trio. One of the newcomers stood out, with long blue hair and a pair of stylish sunglasses. Mr. Potter gave his wand a final flick banishing the sunset sphere into nothingness. Harry and his compatriots joined hands just as the mob ran up for answers. They were gone before the reporters could catch up.

That wasn’t to forget the massive water balloon that had been collecting in midair. As it crashed down upon her and nearly a dozen others, she merely nodded to herself. Her clothes were soaked. Her hair was a ragged mess. On top of it all, her ice cream was ruined.

Trassia sat down and started wringing her hair out. She never really even noticed someone park it right next to her.

‘Ugh, all my notes are ruined. I bet Finch got off clear and dry.’ Whoever it was sounded like a reporter. After a moment there came a poke in Trassia’s arm. ‘Excuse me,’ said the person, presumably female. ‘Do you have some dry parchment, by any chance?’

Trassia sighed and turned to the girl, showing off her thoroughly wet status with a dripping shrug. ‘Does it look like it?’ Then the young woman paused, and looked.

Lightning-frazzled curls shot out in all directions. Eyes like burning blue plasma practically irradiated their target. The watcher held a quill and sopping wet parchment. _Oh no._ ‘Blast,’ whined Eudora Skeeter. ‘I hate this.’ The woman dropped her arms. ‘I know for a fact Finch was up-front and centre on this. I lost out again.’

‘Sorry about that,’ offered Trassia obligingly, just to be polite. It was time to shuffle off in a relaxed and casual-type hurry.

‘And she can read lips,’ Eudora moaned.

By now Trassia had stood up. ‘That’s a shame-’

A hand clasped the girl’s wrist. ‘Wait a second.’ It wasn’t a request. Polite tones masked a command. She wasn’t letting go. ‘Did you hear anything? You were standing on the fountain, miss…?’

Here it went again. Trassia made bloody sure to keep her book tucked tight into her pocket where the snoop couldn’t see. Should she tell? It would sound like a very different person if she did, nothing like “Travis” at all. She thrust out her hand and snapped up Eudora’s for an exuberant handshake. ‘Trassia Barnes. Yeah, I saw a bit, but- but, uh, nothing as much as you likely, probably have- had, have seen.’ _Focus._ ‘You were right up front with Harry Potter. I’m so jealous.’

The roving reporter rolled with it, utterly undaunted. ‘It’s far from the first time I’ve been in contact with him,’ Eudora slung about casually. ‘Usually he’s too busy for interviews.’

It was time to have some fun with this. ‘But not for you, right? You’re Eudora Skeeter, reporter and columnist for the Bard Of Our Times and niece of the famous Rita Skeeter.’

A coy smile matched wits with an eyebrow raise of surprise on the woman’s face as she processed this. ‘You know me?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Trassia replied, drizzled with a layer of nonchalance.

Now Eudora’s focus was honed. ‘Do you read our paper?’

Sopping black and crimson locks swung this way and that as Trassia shook her head. ‘No, but my dad’s looked at it a few times. Mostly he reads the Daily Prophet.’

The journalist’s bullet-proof expression soured a little. ‘I really recommend you give our paper a try, and tell your father to as well. Tell your mother!’ With a happy shrug, her smile was back. ‘We might not have as much manpower or resources as the Prophet, but we’re up and coming in the news field, I promise you. One day, we’ll stand toe-to-toe with the greats and maybe even overtake them!’

The little she did know about all of that came back like a dim light bulb in a dark room. Trassia grabbed her hair and wrung it out. ‘Didn’t the Bard used to be a rock magazine or something?’

Eudora merrily pointed a quill feather at the girl. ‘It _used_ to. After we secured interviews with important witches and wizards like Sylvana Hex and your _beloved Harry Potter,_ ’ sass avalanching off her words, ‘we started changing priorities to report on pressing issues often overlooked by larger media outlets. We’re the voice of a new generation! _Your_ generation!’

That reporter certainly had a way with words. Trassia shrugged. ‘I might check it out-’

‘Please do. It’s community support that allows us to continue reporting on issues that really matter to the public, not just all the gloss and sensationalism of the Daily Prophet.’ That undaunted, unending smile returned in force.

It was time to go. Trassia began to back away. ‘I’ll definitely consider it. Anyway, I have to go get ready for work and think of what to make for dinner. Have a good day, okay?’

Eudora nodded. ‘I will if I can. You too, miss Trassia Barnes.’ Electric blues scanned Trassia up and down. She gave a little bow and turned toward the rest of the crowd.

She was free. That brought up a good question, though: What was she going to do for dinner? Would her roommates be cooking? Did they eat out like lazy students? Were they surviving on instant ramen and microwave dinner-magical equivalents? For that matter, what were the rules concerning the use of the kitchen? It might have an agreement about on and off days-

‘Excuse me.’ A voice from behind halted Trassia in her tracks.

Trassia turned a reluctant about-face. ‘Yes?’

The smirking visage of Eudora Skeeter bore into the poor child. Skeeter walked up uncomfortably close, quill and wet notes in-hand. ‘If you’re really interested in Harry Potter, I’d recommend you look through our older issues for my first interview with him. Five years back, February fifth. It’s titled “Harry Potter: The Man Behind The Scar”.

_Darn it. Darn it all._ It was so hard to just say no. ‘I actually have,’ admitted Trassia. It was the only issue she did read. ‘It was good.’

It could have been gratitude that glimmered in her eyes. ‘Thank you, so very much.’ Her hands reached out and snagged Trassia’s before she could reflexively cringe. The woman was quick. ‘I’m doing another one on Harry Potter and Rufus Mooney. I was trying to get a few words with them, but he hit me with that Tranquilliam spell.’

_Wait, what?_ This lady knew what that was? ‘Tranquilliam? He didn’t even say anything. That’s such a cool spell, I need that so I can get away from people I hate.’ A few ideas as to who already came to mind.

Skeeter shook her bouncy-frizz head. ‘It’s incredibly complex to perform. Mr. Potter is an incredibly capable wizard, but people like you and I have no chance without years of practice.’

So that was out. It was hard to do simple spells let alone the fancy ones that famous people mastered for fighting world-ending wars. ‘I guess I’ll just not, then.’

The dogged writer looked her over again, scanning Trassia like a xerox machine. ‘Trouble learning spells? We have a column for that. “Every Day Enchanted.” You can learn a new spell every issue, or even new ways to use simple spells. Really, give our paper a chance, you’ll like it.’

It was beginning to sound tempting. ‘Well, I could, yeah. It sounds nice.’

_Push push push._ Again Eudora hammered the point home. A wet heap of paper was slapped down into her victim’s palm. ‘Here, our most recent issue. I was mostly done with the word puzzle anyway.’

‘Well, thanks-’

The woman smiled that smile. ‘This one has a section on Black Kandal and the Changer Movement. If you follow recent politics, you’ll find it interesting. We bring some points up that the Daily Prophet completely glosses over.’

Black Kandal was obviously a familiar name, but the rest was new. ‘What’s the Changer Movement?’. Trassia had to enquire. She sat down once more on the wet fountain, in her… slightly transparent black pants. This was not great. Off went the coat, tied around her waist. Nobody needed to see her legs.

Eudora was apathetic to the display, sitting down close next to her. The stranger’s leg brushed her coat. ‘Changers are a group of witches and wizards that found a way to transform into other people without standard magical means such as a False Face Mask or an animagus potion. They’ve been causing a lot of trouble for the ministry because it’s near impossible to track them if they just transform into a different person and slip away. They can commit crimes and never be at the scene of the incident.’

The world ceased to matter. Deep brown eyes pleaded into Eudora’s mortal core for more. ‘Go on,’ murmured Trassia. Something lifted her chest, so light and high. Something else compacted the breath from her lungs. She was transfixed.

Hope was sated. ‘They’ve allegedly been around for hundreds of years, but reports on them are scarce to downright non-existent, even. From what the ministry has gathered, they’re a massive underground crime syndicate. A lot of times they incorporate unregistered animagi into their ranks to increase their espionage capabilities. I touch on some of this in the article.’ Skeeter tapped the newspaper.

‘So they’re all kind of criminals?’ A sinking feeling dragged her heart down into the top of her abdomen. She glanced at the column, scanning the article in question.

Eudora gave a shrug. ‘ _Bloody shoes are full of water. Thanks, Mr. Potter._ ’ She leaned over and pulled them off, dumping out the wet contents. ‘Nobody knows. The changer syndicate recently sided with Black Kandal and his cult for unknown reasons. Maybe they think he can help them build a new world order where changers and animagi are deemed the new, superior and “true” wizarding population. That’s anyone’s best guess.’

Being anywhere but here sounded really tempting right now. It was hard not to fidget with her hands. Trassia only noticed in the aftermath that she had begun to bite her lip. ‘And… they aren’t really welcome in society, are they?’

A shake of her head from the journalist spelled a large “no”. ‘That’s likely who attacked Rufus Mooney in his home just now, and why Potter himself showed up to investigate. They were searching the faces in the crowd, didn’t you see? They were looking to find a person that didn’t fit.’

Trassia had to shrug. ‘To be honest, I didn’t notice anything. I was just eating ice cream and listening to music by the corner.’

Eudora stuffed her quill back into her pocket. Today she was wearing a vibrant blue vest with green sleeves and a matching high collar. ‘Hm, disappointing.’ She didn’t bother to hide her defeat. ‘Finch is going to have this half-written up back at the office by now.’

This lady had helped her out, even if only for her own purpose of self-promotion. Perhaps it was guilt, or hopelessness, but it had to be repaid in turn, that was a rule. It wasn’t quite a sigh that left her lungs, but it was close. A breath of solemn readiness almost prepared Trassia. ‘Rufus isn’t really a ticking time bomb- at least, not entirely. I went to school with him.’

Out came the quill. Those dazzling eyes fixed hard on hers like lasers. Even if the parchment was wet, she still held it at the ready. Reaching down into her jacket pocket, Trassia retrieved her wand and pointed it at Eudora’s writing implements. ‘ _Antedia._ ’ It was only a bare sliver of a whisper, but it worked, drying the parchment off like new. The fresh paper smell even returned to it.

Skeeter grinned in sweet success and immediately began putting her quill to work. ‘Thank you,’ she said with what at least sounded like genuine gratitude.

‘He really snapped when he found out that his aunt was posing as a teacher and only pretended to be there for him, but then she tried to hand him over to Black Kandal.’

Pause hit Miss Skeeter like a tidal wave, forcing her head to one side. A curious arch of her eyebrow solicited more of the speaker. ‘He has an aunt?’

Trassia nodded. It was a bloody good thing that Rufus Mooney had no idea who she was. He would flay her alive. ‘Yeah. Her name is Lucrecia Mooney. She posed as a professor named Sylvia Mantacora for seven years to get closer to him, and I guess keep track of him. There should be records from Hogwarts about her, if you want to look her up.’

The sound of scratching was a perpetual drone on that minted paper. Finding out anything she wrote was impossible, though. Eudora’s shorthand looked like an entirely new language in itself. Trassia sat and calmly waited until the journalist pacified her itch and glanced back over.

‘What else?’ Miss Skeeter pried like a crowbar.

That seemed like enough. It was one thing to tell someone some errant talk she’d overheard and bits she’d seen from a distance, but it was another to completely spill her guts to a reporter on everything. ‘I really think I should be going now,’ Trassia assured herself. That dinner/kitchen question still burned in the back of her mind.

Eudora bolted upright to her feet like lightning in reverse. ‘Oh no, we’re just getting started.’ A cutting smirk incised deeper, daring for a little more.

‘I have to go,’ asserted the half-Korean girl, sliding back and standing up. ‘It was nice to meet you, good luck on your Harry Potter story. I’ll see you around.’

There came that feeling. The ghost of a sensation charged nerves under the skin, lighting up the back of her body as Trassia walked away. Leg after leg, arms and back, that detached, cold spark of static lit her up. Skin buzzed under the weight of an invisible touch so close to the body, still not connecting flesh to flesh. A shudder ran deep through like an earthquake. She turned fast, bumping a shoulder into Eudora Skeeter. She had to have been an inch a half behind.

‘What the- what- what are you-!? What!? No!’ Trassia leapt back like a cat, fuelled by adrenaline and instinct. ‘Back off!’

That eternally present death mask smile bored solid holes through the teen. ‘We’re not done yet. You know more, tell me.’

‘No! Get away from me, you creepy psychopath!’ _An inch away._ Trassia sprinted down the road and anywhere else, as fast as she could.

She didn’t stop running until she had made it back to familiar territory. Bolting down random streets had taken her back to Tendril Lane, with all the overgrown ivy and such all across the houses. Trassia slumped back against a random wall fifty or so feet from The Moonlight Garden Café and let her back ride down every textured brick. Spine and skin met coarse texture as her shirt rode up. It didn’t matter enough to shake the break in fleeing. Trassia nudged her body forward a few centimetres and pulled her clothes back down, boots on the ground and knees tight to her chest. That was enough.

That reporter woman had to be the creepiest thing she’d encountered yet. Who followed someone that close, really? Did she have no privacy values? Of course not, she was a journalist. Trassia gestured to the world in general with a hands-only shrug and sneered. The crazy lady was probably the type to spy on people through windows and rummage through garbage.

At least that brought a laugh. The mental image of Eudora rooting around in a garbage can like a giant raccoon stuck around for a while. The thought of her big, bug-eyed stare as the lights of a passing car shone in her face was too silly an image not to treasure.

It was just one person, out of thousands, in a city large enough to hold a little bit of everything. This was far from the end of the world. At least some parts of the conversation had been enlightening. She’d been given a free copy of the newspaper to do some research on.

Had she been too hard on Eudora? There was no way to know now. Trassia dried the papers off and unfolded them. One day she was going to have to thank mom for that spell. Home cleaning really did come in handy.

This paper wasn’t all folded up into strange triangular articles like the Daily Prophet, or winding its columns into tighter and tiger circles that ensured the reader had to effectively turn their early morning read into a paper steering wheel. It was plain old, boring columns. Right on page one of the newspaper was the story in question: “Kandal’s Secret Comrades: Fact Or Fiction?” The title promised, now it was time to see if it delivered. It seemed worth a read, at the very least.

“ _So very seldom do we sit back and ask why someone turns out the way they do. We question dark wizards in order to find the inner machinations that provide the key to their downfall. We theorise about our heroes so we can feel closer to them, assured in the humble origins that tie us to them in ways we can only imagine. This is not the same._

_Despite all the rumours and myth behind Elias Mooney, AKA Black Kandal, very little is known about his motives and his compatriots. The infamous Candlers appear to walk in the shadow of the Death Eaters. Both bear a sinister tattoo, both serve a homicidal dark wizard, and both seek the deaths of their perceived enemies. Despite this, nobody knows who his compatriots are at the end of the day. Every attack on the unsuspecting public ends as suddenly as it begins, with the guilty parties vanishing like ghosts. Apparition leaves a trail we can track these days, and no traces of a fleeing party are ever found after an attack. It’s as if they change their faces and disappear into the crowd._

_Maybe that’s what they do. There are myths in the ancient tombs of Egypt and passages in religious texts from Ireland that speak of people who transform not into animals, but other people. Germany has creatures called Doppelgängers- beings that imitate another’s form. Potions may be able to do this on a temporary basis, but not enough to grant one the ability to shape-shift at will into any form they please. If you look in the Book Of Eldritch Beasts, translated to English from Afrikaans, it mentions a form-changing monster on page 134, called the “Stigwhistler”, alleged to dwell in the plains. This is a mistranslation, and no such creature has ever been documented outside of this example. In the original text, it actually refers to the Gesigwisselaar, which directly translates to “Face Changer”. Old shamans direct from Africa can attest to this, and to the legend._

_What if these aren’t just legends? If they really are such a persistent concept all over the world because these people are as real as magic. After all, unicorns and dragons are only mythology to the muggle world. Every day one of us sees or deals with them. What’s to say they aren’t hidden in the crevices of society, watching unseen from unsuspecting faces? Even in London, we have a word for them: We call them Changers. Rumours of their existence are always quietly stamped out and removed from the public eye, keeping them only a hushed whisper at best._

_If these people are real and can change their form at will, then why would they hide it? That’s what we fear to answer, and love to envy. Picture the perfect crime: Imagine being able to commit any act in the world and moments later take on a new face and body, with a different spell trace. Fingerprints and scents would change too. The rest of the world would never know where the culprit went as the guilty party walks away in plain sight. Husbands could slip off to secret mistresses in another body and never be caught red-handed. Secret agents could become the ultimate chameleons, infiltrating governments and militaries without any complications._

_It all gets stranger and more twisted when one remembers that myths of these people all quietly disappear, as if snuffed out by people with the right positions of power. The Gesigwisselaar was a botched translation. Was that an accident or intentional? Go ahead and look them up. All modern references in the European region have been covered up or snuffed out. It will be interesting to see what becomes of this article in a year’s time._

_Now we get to the meat of the matter. Why, if these people exist, would they ally themselves with a fanatic death cult aimed at conquest? Who says they aren’t already pulling the strings behind it? If changers are theoretically seated into positions of power, it would not only ensure that they have a base to control the ministry, but would also have a dangerous and effective group of radical witches loyal to them. With this they could either cause acts of petty terrorism to distract an ignorant population, or build their forced for a hostile takeover._

_Let us not forget that since the promotion of Granger to Minister For Magic seven years ago, registration penalties for unregistered animagi and other shape-shifters has become more swift and severe. Gender politics too have taken a step back, as the trans-gender community. It is a matter of record that Granger has likened trans-gender people to monsters, denoting them as “gay rapists” and “men in dresses”. Backlash and hate crimes in the wizarding community markedly rose as a result. Let it also not be forgotten that during an interview for the new education funding program, Granger went to great lengths to note the exclusion and isolation of trans-gender children and teens into separate washrooms and dormitories. “The logic behind it is irrefutable,” said Granger. “Hormone therapy can’t replace what was given at birth. You can’t become something you’re not, and we need to stop trying to mislead the younger generations into believing in fairy tales.”_

_Two weeks after this interview, Granger was attacked in her office by unknown assailants. They escaped without a trace, utterly baffling the ministry, who underwent a total staff change immediately after, citing reasons of internal security but declining to explain any further._

_If you could change your face, maybe become another gender entirely, or an animal that feels more fitting than being human, and someone tried to take it away, what would you do? How would you protect your way of life? Nobody knows where the attackers went that targeted Granger, or why they did it, but the case seems clear. The Bard Of Our Times in no way endorses terrorism, assault, hate, or violence of any kind, but it does acknowledge the hard and painful times endured by those affected by this, no matter which side of the controversy they stand on._

_As for the future, just remember to keep your eyes open, and your ears alert. Never believe only what you’re told. It certainly is curious that we have a word for a shape-shifter that nobody acknowledges as existing. Search for the truth for yourself, before someone changes it on you._ ”

Trassia merely sat, and read, and sat longer, and stared. She sat until her wet pants pooled water onto the lining of her leather jacket. Calm, quiet breaths were the only sound in the air. Even passing people faded out of reality. There was nothing but the sound of reading.

She closed her eyes and took another breath. After a moment she licked her lips and… no words came out. A silent stammer forced her open and shut again and again. There was too much to process all at once.

The trans-gender politics were nothing new. Trassia Noble wasn’t an option for a name if she wanted any peace or respect. Getting a job or an apartment would have been impossible if anyone knew she had been a man. It was the same mindset as the minister, the accusations that would have tailed. Nobody felt comfortable around a trans woman. Washrooms all around Magical London already had signs for “True Males” and “True Females” on the doors. Two years after Granger came into power those had gone up. Getting arrested for trespassing and suspected assault for going to the wrong toilet wasn’t an option.

It was fine. She was Trassia Barnes. She was living with Travis’ parents- her aunt and uncle. If anyone asked, her parents were dead or moved back to South Korea but she wanted to stay to keep going to Hogwarts. Nobody would question that. Her life began now. Travis was dead. That was fine.

The paper, though. There was a word for people like her. It wasn’t glorious or fancy like “animagus”. It didn’t come with elegant connotations or a glowing aura of envy cast out by the description. There were changers, and they were criminals. Is that how the world saw her?

Is that how the ministry saw her?

It hit like a train. Ron Weasley was Granger’s husband. She’d gotten a job working for the family of the minister. Of course he’d be on her side. George would, too. Fred was just a hollow illusion of a deceased twin, spun to life in a magical portrait, so he was only their servant. Where else was there to go?

She only had experience working with her parents. She could carry wheelbarrows full of scrap material and dust shelves or make beds. No- _Travis_ could carry and lift. It was his muscles that had been built up from summers of hauling and building. Hers were still weak and under-used in this body.

There was no other option, there had to be another job out there. Maybe Constance needed help at The Moonlight Garden, with her four tables… and her no customers. She had no record of going to Hogwarts as Trassia. If they asked, she would have to lie, and then she’d be the liar without a high school graduate’s degree. Travis had gotten her this stupid, _stupid_ job because of _his_ ties to the Weasleys. They never even asked about her credentials, she was just the cousin of the gormless smuggler they paid to sneak their wares into the school. Nobody suspected “No-Good Noble”. She- _he_ was a useless, miserable idiot. He’d been nothing but a waste of space, why would anyone look twice at him? He was the wrong person in the wrong body, screaming inside every night in bed, in the wrong gender’s dormitory.

Eighteen years of being in the wrong body, and this was how it ended up. It was no wonder the whole community was branded as mentally ill. It was a prison. Even moving to another country was out of the question. Granger’s laws reached across the British Isles. It took money, and a job to leave. It took a passport.

_As Travis._

Her body curled itself tight into a ball. This was a nightmare. What were the other options? She could go home, under the effects of The Fix, and never cast magic, stuck in the wrong body. _Well, no._ The Fix couldn’t stop her from changing genders for some reason. That seemed to be some intrinsic biological feature. Maybe it didn’t kill it because it wasn’t a real spell, it was just… _inside magic_. Casting spells or making potions were out, though. She might as well pack her wand away forever. Eight summers without practicing. She’d be a muggle. Even more, the ministry would check on her to make sure she wasn’t turning into some kind of monster from lack of magic use. Apparently that could happen, so she’d been told. She needed to, what, be milked for magic like a cow? This world was insane. It wasn’t stable.

Even the muggle world would ask where Travis went eventually. At least with them she could… claim to… have gotten a sex change that modified her blood type, facial structure, height, genes, and DNA into an entirely different human. She was screwed. What would happen when bloody stupid security cameras caught Travis running banking errands and going to work in a miserable muggle job while Trassia did everything else, with no evidence of the other existing in the interim? How long could she pretend to be suspiciously living with her own cousin before people started asking severely inconvenient questions? She had no ID as Trassia Barnes, at all. She didn’t exist. She’d be picked up by immigration one day after inevitably making a slip-up and deported to South Korea as an illegal. Mom warned her against ever going there as a sorcerer. It would be impossible to have “Travis” come rescue her, too, when she was stuck in a prison cell awaiting deportation. They’d ask where he went, too. This just got worse and worse.

The urge to throw up pushed in on her stomach. Trassia leaned hard into her legs, pressing her knees into her forehead, harder and harder. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t help. This corner of nowhere was too solitary to leave. It wasn’t a corner, just a wall, with more wall on either side. She was just a wet nobody sitting on the ground like a homeless vagrant. Nobody was around. There was only breathing.

_Just breathe._

The best option was the worst, She just had to get enough work experience at the joke shop so that she could apply for another job and use the references to cover up the fact that she had no proof of existing outside of recently moving to London. There were okay jobs out there, anonymous ones. She had a year’s residence at Murder Lane to figure it out.

A smile broke through like a lighthouse in fog. That was right, that was what she’d called the bloody stupid Dragon Heel Lane that looked like a scene out of a Jack The Ripper wax display. All it was missing was a murdered prostitute missing her liver. Hopefully it would stay devoid of that detail. Murder Lane, how stupid was that?

Dad would laugh and get all protective. He’d insist on walking her home every night if he could. Nobody messed with him, not even wizards. He would keep her safe. Mom would say it was okay. A sting twinged behind her eyes. Mom would hold her close and just tell her everything would be okay. It would. She made everything alright. Tears began to push free.

Trassia wiped her nose with a finger and rubbed it on her shirt. Then she reached through her pockets for the book. Hopefully it wasn’t too wet. Fingers closed on the little pocket journal and pulled it out, bone dry. Sopping wet fingers didn’t even mar the cover. In fact, the water ran off of it like laminated plastic. The tears came through like a burst dam.

It seriously took a minute and a half before she could wipe her face and look past the crimson “TRASSIA” on the cover. The black cover now bore a little gold star up in the corner. She ran an experimental thumb across it. The indented star was definitely permanent. That was odd.

Studious hunger overlapped the confused pangs of grief masquerading as an empty stomach. She flipped casually through the pages until her eyes fixated on an insignificant little detail. The spell page for the Antedia spell now had a star in the corner.

_Maybe._ Trassia leafed through a little more until she came to a previously blank page further on in. It now held instructions for a potion unknown to her knowledge. This was how to learn. Laughter cut through happy tears, and she wiped them away with her wrist. Hogwarts would have been so much more fun if she’d had a learning book like this. She could have been an ace student like this.

The world turned a silent revolution on its axis yet again. The afternoon sun stayed still in its illusory position minutes behind where it really was in the sky, but the air was clear. The calm silence ruled out above the cawing of errant travellers and their idle chatter. It was a new life, here, in London. Travis had gone. That false skin had been shed. It really, truly was a fresh start. Now it got real. What need did she have to change “back” for anyhow? Vervanct would let her have a bank account. She had money, or at least she would after her first payday. Everything was set up for a new life in her real body.

Now, there was dinner to sort out. Trassia rose from the mire of her soaking reverie and stood back up, into the real world. The wonderful little pocket Hogwarts was pocketed once again close to her heart. The young woman walked on, out of Tendril Lane and back to Diagon Alley. It was time to go home.

The Alley was busier now. More people were awake and busying about in their wayward lives. It was at its heart a shopping district, rife with business, so it was likely to stay this way. The girl slipped by and headed toward the correct gap between buildings. Northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast, she tapped the corners of the walls and then ran her wand down the divide. It opened with a satisfying grinding of stone on stone.

A girl on the other side of the wall paused in surprise and lowered her wand. Both parties crossed paths in silence, trading positions. The girl turned as she entered Diagon Alley and watched Trassia. Perhaps the stranger expected her to close the portal. That was not something she’d been taught. Body language gave a little hint, words unspoken as Trassia kept walking a little, moving on while glancing back. “ _Do- do you want me to?_ ”, said Trassia’s stance. Her half-turn and motion away from the divide added more. “ _I mean, I wasn’t going to, I was kind of expecting you to do it. I guess I can if you really want, but… I have places to be, so I want to leave that in your hands._ ” Body language could say a lot.

“ _Ugh, fine,_ ” said the girl’s stance, complete with a pouty little hip-lean and a reluctant eye roll. She pointed her wand at the opening and waved it back and forth like a zig-zag, her northeast to the left, back and forward in shorter and tighter wiggles as it descended, as if sewing it back up. The girl turned and left as it began to close. A young man leapt through at the last minute and kept walking, headed to an apartment.

That was good to remember. X to open, stitches to close. It was like cutting and sewing. How though was anyone supposed to know that if they weren’t shown? It was Darwinism at work. The magical world was not built for real people. This whole place was more like a test of wits, or an old-fashioned role-playing game, where the towns were labyrinths and people needed to put their boot in the door of every house and question every mindless character just to find some mystical, cloaked rogue in an inn that knows the old man behind the waterfall that can reveal the password to get to Murder Lane. The society was built on “I thought you already knew”. Now some anonymous girl out there thought that Trassia was too lazy to close the portal on her own.

She headed back to the foggy alley, inside apartment 32- _cleaning her boots off_ \- and up to her apartment. Again as she walked in there was music playing. This time no awkward introductions were needed. It was maybe one o’clock, according to her 88:88 in the after-morn-night watch. The day was young.

Glossy brown hair shone over the back of the couch. It moved this way and that to the beat of the record player’s music. When the door shut it swung around, revealing a pretty face with a mole on the forehead. Vanessa immediately unbound her ponytail and covered the space above her left eyebrow.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she remarked haughtily.

That was a warm welcome. ‘Yup, it’s me.’ Trassia stood about, awkwardly waiting for nothing in particular.

Vanessa laughed. ‘I thought you’d have run home by now.’

‘I did,’ rebutted Trassia. ‘Here I am.’

Vanessa had nothing but a sneer for this. She went back to whatever it was she had been doing. Trassia wandered her way over to the couch. Kandé was nowhere to be seen. A ball of fur was, however. All the rules went out the window.

‘Aw!’ It took about a third of a second for the half-Korean interloper to sweep around and kneel by the coffee table. A birman cat laid stretched out across Vanessa’s lap. Thick, brown fur had seen better days, turning tatty and matted in places. Age weathered its chocolate tones. Yellow eyes gazed out lazily from round, contented pupils. An apathetic focus barely bothered to acknowledge the new face. Trassia held out a hand for the creature to sniff. He did.

‘What a sweetie!’ She was entranced. ‘Fuzzy baby, look at you.’ He had no care in the world when she began to pet his head and scratch his chin. ‘Za fuzzy snuzzlebaby. Look at da swuzzums.’

Vanessa groaned with all her might. ‘God, you’re one of _those._ ’

‘What’s his name?’ Trassia was hooked, she had to know. What was the title of this divine beast?

‘Walnut. He’s old and smelly, but I love him. He came to Hogwarts with me. Slept on my bed most nights. Still does.’

‘I already love him.’ This place was officially wonderful.

The roommate sighed and begrudgingly patted the couch cushion to her right. Trassia sat as commanded. ‘So you like cats,’ noted Vanessa, deadpan as a corpse. ‘It doesn’t mean you’re welcome here.’

‘Why not?’ The question had to be asked. Trassia continued to pet Walnut, albeit the other end.

‘This is our apartment. We just got rid of the last girl, finally, and then we get you dumped on us not a day later. Kaspar doesn’t want us alone.’

The cat still ruled Trassia’s attention. ‘Why not?’

Sardonic looks didn’t come more biting if they were equipped with fangs. Vanessa rolled her head to glance over, one wry brow hoisted high as a main sail. ‘Why do you think Kaspar doesn’t want us alone?’

So that was why her application was approved so suddenly, and at such a weird time. ‘No romantic interl-’

‘Interludes, yeah. No sex. Ever. Kaspar hates _anything_ fun.’ Vanessa too paid tribute to the glorious Mr. Walnut.

Trassia nodded. ‘Okay. Well, it works for me,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to bring someone home anyway, so no need to worry about that.’

Roommate number one eyed her up, gathering mental notes of all her features, then turned back to the cat. ‘You will.’

Is it wrong that this made her smile? ‘Uh, thanks?’, Trassia replied. It was hard to be sure. She was still new at this whole dating thing. The subject needed a change of pace. ‘So what’s up with the way into this place? Do people normally get told how to open the gate in Diagon Alley? If so, I never got the memo.’

Vanessa laughed. ‘It’s a Ravenclaw world.’

‘What?’ Maybe she got the meaning there.

The owner of the glorious cat shook her head. ‘If you’re too stupid to pass in the wizarding world, you deserve to fail.’ She really was a Ravenclaw.

It wasn’t worth arguing about. Trassia shrugged it off for her own sake and petted the cat. ‘So where is Kandé? Did he get his assignment turned in?’

That was met with a nod. ‘Yeah, now he’s asleep. He’s always been a night owl.’ Then at last Vanessa smiled. ‘In school, he always used to sneak out and get into trouble.’

Learning about her new environment wasn’t a bad thing. ‘So how did you two get together?’

Miss Ravenclaw dropped her sour guise. ‘He was the smartest guy in class. I was the smartest girl. We often got stuck tutoring the help cases at the back of the class. We drifted together one day he asked me out. We’ve been together ever since. His ex, Penelope Simons, hates me so much.’ Vanessa smiled victoriously, staring off into some distant memory on the horizon.

‘Why?’

‘He chose me over her.’

_Ah. Okay._ That story told itself. ‘I think I see where you’re going with this.’ Remnants of stress still bubbled away in the pit of her stomach. ‘Anyway, so what do you usually do about food and eating arrangements around here?’

Vanessa snorted. ‘I eat anyone that touches my food. If it’s in my cupboards, it’s mine. Keep your food in your room if you don’t want anyone touching it.’

It was one of those arrangements. ‘What about dinner? Do we do anything at all or-’

‘We eat whatever we eat. You take care of you,’ Vanessa retorted sharply.

‘So the kitchen, am I good to use it if I need it?’

The woman gestured with a hand, sweeping the question away. ‘Do whatever, I don’t care.’

Everyone was on their own and it was survival of the fittest, _got it_. ‘Okay. I might cook dinner sometimes, so if the smell bothers you or if you need to use it f-’

The interruption began at “bothers”, but overlapping conversation didn’t quite jumble comprehension. ‘Wait, you cook?’ Vanessa suddenly sat up straight, unsettling Walnut only for a moment.

The words “kitchen slave” leisurely wheeled their way into Trassia’s brain on roller skates. ‘Uh, yeah. Don’t you know how?’ It was best for now to omit mention of her intimate knowledge regarding home cleaning and construction.

‘We’re students,’ snapped Vanessa. ‘We live on takeout food and instant noodles.’

_I knew it._ Trassia suppressed a smirk, biting her lip instead. ‘I can make a bunch of stuff, my mom taught me how. I know a lot of English and Korean food, so I can do a bit of everything.’

Suspicious eyes scrutinised the newcomer. ‘Can you make curry?’

Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, three different ways.’

The roommate smiled. ‘Kandé’s gonna love you. Here, you may now pet the cat.’

Warnings were forsaken. Sleep was disturbed as Vanessa scooped up the poor feline and dumped him on Trassia’s lap. For all of about two seconds, Walnut stood in place, confusedly gathering his surroundings before crawling back to Vanessa to reclaim his warm spot. It was alright, cats were allowed to have priorities.

On the subject of absences, there was something missing from the coffee table. Trassia glanced around. ‘Hey, where’s my laptop?’

‘In your room,’ Vanessa snapped, slightly impatient.

So privacy meant nothing here. ‘Wait, you two went in my room?’

There came a haughty scoff. ‘Relax, princess, he just opened the door and threw it on the bed. Don’t go harping to me because he returned your sodding possessions like he said he would.’

If there was a way to win this conversation, it wasn’t readily apparent. Trassia merely surrendered with an ‘okay’ and headed off to her formerly private sanctum. ‘I can go shopping this evening and make dinner if you want,’ she called back.

Vanessa didn’t bother with a response.

_Fine, be that way._ Trassia shut her door and ran a quick inspection of her things. Nothing had been disturbed and it all looked in order. The laptop had indeed been literally tossed onto the bed and left there. It was promptly moved over to the nightstand. Maybe Kandé was the nice roommate. Her leather jacket hit the floor as she pulled out her wand and book. The boots were kicked off. Lastly, the door was locked with a “click”. The girl hopped up onto the bed and spread out wide. There were spells to learn and stars to earn. Now she was on Trassia time.


	5. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is finally starting to come together. Trassia's first day at her first magical job is about to begin, and there is so much to learn, especially when life decides to get in the way. Living in the shadow of walking legends is never easy.

Nothing beat the smell of breakfast first thing in the morning. The smell of bacon and sausages mingled artfully with eggs and pancakes. It was the syrup that stood out the most. Authentic maple always had a stronger smell than artificial chemicals and sugar. Trassia scooped the newest batch of pancakes onto the cookie sheet in the magic-powered oven. It was incredible how many muggle inventions worked when they were hijacked and the electricity replaced by wand fuel. It kept the food warm, so it was alright.

The sound of tickety-tick-tap-typing emanated from the couch. Once more her laptop had been commandeered. At this point he might as well have been paying a rental fee. Trassia loaded a plate full of food and hauled it over, drowning in syrup.

Red eyes didn’t leave the test papers on the coffee table. His head rested in his hand in the tradition of all stressed students throughout the vast annals of history. ‘Real food,’ sighed Kandé. A bare hand grabbed a fistful of everything and mashed it into his gullet. Those sticky fingers were now going to ruin her keyboard. She was never going to get that thing back.

This time it was Trassia’s turn to cast an offended gaze. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Food’s not real unless it’s British. No racism. I’m a student, I live on Chinese takeaway and curry.’

A shrug washed over the girl. ‘As if those aren’t literally Chinese and Indian.’

The man ate like a pig. ‘British do it better. Just kidding, but no more weird Korean stuff.’

She didn’t dignify that with a response. There was a lot to do. Trassia ducked away and grabbed her things. How much was really going to be needed was unknown. Monday morning had come fast. This wasn’t Hogwarts though, she wasn’t going to be bringing pencils and schoolbooks. Her wallet and coin pouch were probably enough.

Back in the privacy of her room, she switched into some clean clothes. It needed to be something professional. They liked silly there, right? Humour and jokes were their thing. Nothing really suited, everything in her wardrobe was too casual. Somewhere in her mess of a footlocker was a red sweater, it was sort of Gryffindor-themed. The Weasleys were all Gryffindors in school, so it was more likely to make a good impression.

The text message had said today was a training day. She could come in and shadow the staff, just learning. School never ended once a person was handed their diploma. It took fifteen minutes to walk to work. She had thirty remaining before the shop opened. Eight in the morning neared.

The red sweater it was, and some black jeans. The big goth boots were out this time, it had to be something. Plain red flats were best. Black and red matched the hair anyway.

Nothing covered up the thoughts. Trassia collapsed back onto her bed. The computer had nothing on changers. It had nothing on animagi anymore either, aside from casual mentions of the word in public arrest records. Either there was some elaborate cover-up in progress or Eudora Skeeter was insane and trying to attract new readers with conspiracy theories. It worked for the Quibbler.

How wise was this? Would it be better to go back home and find new arrangements? It wasn’t like her side jobs with her parents were anything more than work ethics training in exchange for pocket money. There was no way to afford taking her on full-time as Trassia Barnes, or as anyone. Nobody else would hire her.

_Twenty-five minutes._ At some point she was going to have to buy a new toothbrush. Wherever the old one had gone, it never made it home. More likely than anything, it was sitting in the bottom of the fountain in Lockhart Plaza.

The mental image of Harry Potter and his associates had been hot-iron branded into her brain. He was really there, in person. What were the chances that he would show up at the shop sometime? He had to, at least now and then. He never had when she was there.

_Twenty minutes._ It was time to go. A few extra moments were good insurance. Kandé never even noticed and Victoria was probably asleep. The foyer was silent save for scuffling up above from somewhere. Even Murder Lane was still in its damp, foggy gloom. Life only unfolded in the later twists and turns of the student streets, where the post-pubescent creatures of lank and hormones began to stir and slog onward out into the main arteries of the city. Trassia moved among them until she reached Diagon Alley and promptly separated like oil from water.

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was already setting up for the day. It was seven minutes to opening. There wasn’t much she could do with the door locked, so the only logical option was to lurk in the corner a couple feet away and play with her phone.

Of course mom had sent another text. “Good luck honey!” was all she could see. It hung on the spherical screen for an age, uncleared and uninterrupted. Trassia stared until a nearby “click” said that the shop door had opened. It was time.

Like an eager schoolgirl rushing a concert stage, Trassia blindly barged in. ‘Good morning!’

It wasn’t George. A somewhat different red-headed older man backed up and shrugged irritably. They were the same blue eyes as George, and Fred. Now it came time to pretend again. Trassia took a step back in mock-confusion.

‘Oh, h- hi, hi uh, mister- Mister Weasley.’ She offered a meek shrug. Even when faking confusion the words were choked. ‘Ron? Ron Weasley? I uh, George hired me.’

That red hair had begun to thin a little on the top, but the face was all the same. A few little wear lines didn’t hide anything. It was the same man that stood beside Harry Potter in the final battle. He helped save the world.

It was much easier to suppress the fan-girl reaction after over ten years of seeing his face. He wasn’t the incredibly elusive one. Trassia quietly closed the door behind her and bowed. Maybe it was overkill, but it was still manners, in one culture or another. Dad probably would have rolled his eyes.

The genuine one-and-only Ron Weasley eyed the girl down as he chewed his sausage in a bun. ‘Mmf fuhpoff er Traffia.’ That was elegant. A refined brown suit and red tie made up for it, save for the crumbs.

She got the gist of it. ‘Trassia Barnes, sir. My cousin told me you might have a job opening here. Someone called Glacian quit, and he mentioned an Anya being out on maternity leave, if that’s right?’ It was.

The manager nodded and finally swallowed. ‘Yeah. We’re down to Ashe and that’s it.’ Ron wandered through the aisles and adjusted several things. ‘Ashe, stop putting things down wherever you want.’ His bitter sigh moved mountains.

‘My mom-’s sister ru- my aunt runs a cleaning business.’ That was a close one. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘She taught me to put things back where I found them. If you want, I could spend some time organising once I learn where everything is.’

Mr. Weasley held up a hand like a stop sign. ‘It’s too early in the morning for brown-nosing.’ He was perceptive. ‘George filled me in on the basics. You’re not officially hired yet, you’re just on a trial run.’

The trainee nodded. ‘Yes sir, sorry.’

He waved it off. ‘Good thing you’re a cleaner. Today you’re just gonna follow Ashe around and watch her. She’s your teacher today.’ Ron picked another misplaced trinket off a shelf. This time he tossed it to her. ‘And put stuff back when she doesn’t.’ This one came with a free example. ‘Thirsty glasses go by the food and drinks, not next to the itching underwear.’ There was even more. Three other things were heaped into her arms. ‘And put these back, too. I swear, it’s like cleaning up after my kids.’

Trassia suppressed a smirk. As per the boss’ request, she put everything back in its rightful place. It was easier than it was supposed to be for her second day in the store. This would either come off as really suspicious or really efficient. Hopefully it would be the latter.

Ron carried on with his breakfast and then wandered upstairs. It was easier to see the slight bulge in his ‘You can clean up here too! There’s- agh! How’d she leave an extendable ear up here?’

That was fine, it was work. Mom had brought her to worse messes. If this was the first day, she was going to breeze through. There were some questions, though. ‘The other worker you mentioned, Ashe, does she have red hair?’

‘Yeah, the Welsh one,’ called Mr. Weasley from somewhere up there. ‘No relation. I think she’s half-Irish.’ He rambled and talked, ‘Hired a six-foot leprechaun that confuses pots of gold with my products. Hey, third floor too!’

‘Okay. So when will Ashe be here?’ It only took a few minutes to re-organise the first floor.

The scoff could be heard across the store. ‘Probably in half an hour when she rolls out of bed.’ A head poked out over the railing from the third floor. ‘If she doesn’t show up, just… follow me around and do as I say.’

Trassia obliged with a nod. ‘Okay. So until then, do I just stand back and watch? I assume I won’t be touching the till.’

There was another raised hand of shushing. ‘I’ll do the till. If I’m not there and you see a customer that wants to buy something, just come call for me.’

‘Okay,’ she replied. That seemed easy.

Fifteen minutes of waiting saw customers wander in, but no Ashe. Trassia did her best to stand back and observe. For a moment, the spotlight shone on Trassia as Ron asked her to bring forth an example of their exploding hats. A sound like a backfiring jalopy went off in her ears as the boss had her place it on her head for show. One blackened, smoky face later, they had sold two hats.

Half an hour rolled by. A trio of giggly girls learned the hard way that shoplifting wasn’t allowed, as the merchandise flew like frenzied bats from their pockets and magical effluence painted their faces to look like clowns. Half a dozen customers laughed, while the girls slunk out quietly and ran as soon as they hit the streets. Of course they chose the moment that Ron was in the washroom to even try in the first place. At least nobody was hurt.

Fourty-seven minutes in heralded the arrival of a broad-shouldered lumberjack in a tight yellow top and sunglasses. Ashe strolled in, distressed jeans showing off several examples of knee and lap. Colourful sneakers turned different colours with every step.

‘Oi!’, called Ron, now standing at the till. ‘Almost an hour late!?’

With a wordless wave, she walked right on through the building and into a back room behind a full-body Fred painting frame. Two minutes later Ashe walked back out in a purple apron, with another one over one arm like a towel.

‘Alright Ron, how’s it goin’, alright?’, said the redhead. She then marched up to Trassia and threw her arms around the girl in a tight hug. ‘Hiya Father Christmas,’ she said in her Welsh accent, being Welsh and all. ‘Can you guess what I want in my stocking?’ An apron was tied on the new girl.

This required a long, hard, drawn-out pause. A slight hint of genuinely confused blush tainted Trassia’s face as the utter stranger violated her privacy. Her cheek had touched Trassia’s cheek. Was unwarranted hugging something the staff did here or was she being flirted with by a girl she’d met yesterday?

All that really struck and stuck in the mind was the smell. Cheap vodka on the breath was accompanied by the scent of musty, slept-in clothes. Maybe it was rude, but right now was close enough not to embarrass anyone else. ‘Uh, maybe a breath mint… sorry.’ Trassia diplomatically negotiated her way out of the armlock and began reaching for anything to rearrange.

A conscientious hand rose to cover her mouth. Ashe exhaled and sniffed for evidence, quickly pursing her lips afterward. ‘I thought nobody would notice.’ She smiled it off soon enough and shrugged. ‘I just won’t stand too close to customers, yeah? It’ll be fine.’

There was more to address. ‘Ron says you’re late. Is that normal?’ Trassia discreetly brushed herself off.

Ashe’s laughter cut the topic short. ‘It’s nothing. Anyhoo, it’s your first day, I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it.’

‘You just met me,’ asserted Trassia.

Ashe gave a wayward, lazy shrug. ‘It’s all cool, we’re friends here. Plus I’m the top salesperson here, he’s not gonna fire me when he’s already two employees down.’ The towering figure with fiery locks bent over to the virtual dwarf before her. ‘He’s cool with it. Besides, you were here to cover for me by the look of it. Nothing burned down and everyone’s alive. Nobody turned into a goat. It’s good!’ She elicited a thumbs-up and began to wander off. Even with her back turned, she still talked. ‘So you’re gonna be with me all day today, yeah? So let’s make the best of it! Come on.’ A commanding hand beckoned for the new assistant.

This smelled of bad news. It was the day’s agenda though, so what could she do? Trassia was immediately on cleanup detail, and it started now. As soon as Ashe started addressing potential patrons, she began lifting and moving sales items. None of them were left in the right place. One of the teacups with the blinking eyes in the bottom was left mixed in with the self-erasing books when Ashe wandered off to go showcase another product. A bad advice crystal ball had been propped upon a swearing teddy bear in place of its cushion. The woman was a child in adult’s clothing. Purchases accrued however, as her charming smile and gorgeous green eyes led conversations.

When a lull finally hit, Ashe turned to her living shadow of a housekeeper and leaned ever-so casually on a shelf, knocking products all askew. That would have to be put back in order. ‘So,’ said the firemane, ‘what house were you in? No, wait, let me guess.’ A forbidding finger pressed itself to Trassia’s lips before she could speak. ‘You’re a Gryffindor. I’m a Gryffindor, you know, so I can tell. You nailed that job interview and you weren’t even in there ten minutes. George likes you.’

Trassia slipped back and away from the digit invading her personal space. ‘Well, thank you. I was in Hufflepuff, actually. Sorry.’

Shoulders softly slumped. Ashe’s cocky smirk weakened into a half-hearted, obligatory smile. She shrugged if off with one shoulder. ‘Oh well. You’ve got Gryffindor attitude, you do. That’s good enough.’

‘Okay.’ There was nothing else really to say. Trassia tried to reach around the woman’s elbow to start tidying.

Green eyes fixed onto her. ‘So tell me about yourself. What kind of stuff do you do on your own time? Do you have any hobbies?’

‘No, not really. I mean- I mean not apart from things, muggle things, you know, muggle things. Do you… do you drink before work very often?’ That was about as smooth as gravel. It was impossible to put anything back with her elbow in the way. The stink of day-after-day-old clothes left a lasting impression deep in the nostrils. Deodorant existed for a reason. Trassia shuffled off and scanned around for other misplaced objects to correct without talking.

There came an audible groan. ‘ _Will you shut up about that? It’s nothing, okay?_ ’ Irritable melted back into chocolate sweetness in under a second. ‘So hobbies, nothing at all? You just sit in a cardboard box all day on the street and wait for work to roll around?’ Ashe followed her lead now, tailing along like a puppy. When no response was provoked, she pushed a little harder. A soft smile pleaded for tells. ‘Do you sing? Do you dance? Do you collect little porcelain dogs? Give me something to work with here.’

‘Work with?’ Trassia kept her eyes forward as she straightened the tainting toothpicks.

Ashe leaned in. ‘You’re a new friend. I don’t have many of those. Plus if we’re going to be working together, I’ve got to know what to get you for your birthday. When is that?’

Something about this conversation dangerously danced the line between brash banter and romantic fascination. This was a literal stranger. ‘I’m really not feeling comfortable discussing that with you.’

Red locks swung as Ashe shook her head, confusion daunting those tender eyes. ‘What? Why not? I just want to know about my coworker, that’s all.’

The woman was way too close for her own good. There came the good old gag reflex acting up. In hushed tones, Trassia sighed. ‘ _Please back up, I can’t stand the smell._ ’ Even if it got her punched, it had to be said. Again, she scuttled away to find something new to clean up.

So she did. A haughty, panting huff became of Ashe’s breath. A smile turned into hurt as she bit her lip and stormed off into the staff room. Fred winced at the slamming of the portrait.

This was day one.

* * *

The door to the apartment opened and closed without a sound. The house-elves kept it well-oiled. As had become the norm, the gentle patter of footsteps across the living room was drowned out by a record player. Today’s selection was hard alt-rock from the wizarding world. A song called Broken Hearts And Broken Wands was playing for the third time since she’d arrived.

The rotation for tonight was already in effect. Gone was the couch-surfing student. Instead, a brown, fluffy cat sat on the kitchen counter and watched as Vanessa danced in place at the sink. A box of ice cream sat open and half-carved out. The spoon stuck out of Vanessa’s mouth.

‘Hi,’ sighed Trassia. The bedroom was too far. She slogged over to the couch and sat down.

Over by the kitchen area, Vanessa scooped a finger into the carton and held it out for Walnut to lick. Out came the spoon. ‘Hey. How was work?’ She almost said that as though she cared.

It was her couch now too, she could bloody well use it. Trassia stretched out like a cat and rested her head on the arm. ‘It was okay i guess. It really, well, it was odd. A learning experience.’

‘Did anyone die.’ If it was meant as a question, it didn’t sound like it.

Trassia shook her head, despite the fact that nobody was there to see. ‘No. My coworker sort of had an incident and I had to cover for her, for part of the day. We really didn’t talk much after that. I got trained to use the till, though. I wasn’t supposed to until they were sure about hiring me, but they were in a fix for an hour or so.’

‘ _Fascinating._ ’ There was the anticipated sarcasm. She kept eating.

An opportunity to vent was still an opportunity, no matter how artificial its nature. ‘So I may have made an enemy on my first day. There was this girl- my coworker- and I think she was flirting with me, maybe. I don’t really know, I’ve never even been asked out or kissed before. Anyway-’

‘Mm-hm,’ replied Vanessa, not looking at all.

Trassia rolled over on her side. ‘I didn’t mean to offend her.’ She was done talking. Mom would have dismissed her from any and all summer work if she’d have dared show up in that state.

‘Mind-boggling,’ Vanessa countered.

That was it, one annoyance per day was her limit. ‘What?’, asked Trassia, playing ignorant. She peered around the back of the couch.

Vanessa glanced over. Her head shook as she replied. ‘What?’

At least it got her attention. ‘My coworker showed up drunk and I sort of accidentally made her feel bad and she stormed off.’

‘Good.’ Vanessa laughed.

Trassia failed to glean the benefits of the situation from the context. ‘How is that good? I don’t want to get anyone fired.’

Now it was on. Vanessa pushed her roommate over with a forceful, socked foot and sat down. Walnut leapt up onto the back of the couch not a second later and nested in by her head. ‘Not your bloody call,’ Vanessa retorted. ‘If she can’t do her job, she deserves to get fired.’ Somewhere in that snippy tone were some granules of genuine honesty.

A moment was allowed for silent contemplation. ‘I think she was hitting on me, but I don’t know.’

‘So?’

‘I don’t know her, plus she’s kind of pushy and weird.’

Eyes locked on eyes. ‘What, don’t like girls?’

Trassia quieted down. ‘I don’t know what I like, and it doesn’t matter.’ It was too late in the evening to be timid. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

The tension broke as Vanessa giggled. ‘Don’t even. If Kandé hears you talk like that, he’ll be unbearable to live with.’ She began to relax.

Something inside said that Trassia didn’t want to ask why. ‘For your information, I did have a crush on a girl in school.’ It was hard to look serious while sideways and hunched into a corner, but she still dedicated herself to an official crossing of the arms.

‘Tell, tell,’ demanded Vanessa, now curious. ‘Was it Professor Mantacora? Everyone your age had a crush on her.’

‘She was okay to look at, but no. Too sombre for my liking.’

‘Then who?’ Vanessa scratched Walnut’s fuzzy chin. ‘Was it a classmate? Let me guess: You had a secret crush on Mooney’s girlfriend.’

‘No’ was an immediate answer. ‘Ugh, ew. I’m not touching anything he touched, not with a ten foot pole.’

The woman leaned back and kissed Walnut’s tatty face. ‘Such a sweet old man. You’re going to be annoying to clean up after once that ice cream goes through you. So anyway, spill. You liked who?’

Trassia bit her lip. The mockery was going to sting. ‘Myrtle Warren.’

Laughter drowned out the music. Vanessa shot up straight like a rake under a foot. ‘ _Are you kidding me!?_ Moaning Myrtle, the dead girl that hides in the ladies’ toilet!? Why? She’s a loser!’ The roommate cackled maniacally. ‘Oh, this is better than I imagined! It just fits you so well!’ Her feet kicked childishly with glee.

‘Shut up- please.’ It was rude to give orders. Trassia crawled up to a sitting position and huddled into a ball. ‘She was nice to me. She always listened when I had problems in school, and- and she helped me with my homework. So I liked her, it- so what?’ Only two people in the school ever knew her secret. The bloody snoop was too good at appearing at the wrong time, like when a sad child was crying in her bathroom stalls. It turned out Myrtle was good at keeping secrets, too.

Vanessa’s posture straightened up. ‘So did you make a move? On a ghost?’ There was that mocking tone, burning away deep inside.

A head shake said no. ‘I asked her to the winter festiv- carn- ball. Dance. I, the dance. Triwizard thing, but she had two boys and another girl already ask her first. She’s really popular these days.’

‘Hard to believe,’ said Vanessa with a sneer. ‘All she does is complain, like, incessantly.’

‘Not if you listen,’ Trassia said in turn. ‘Anyway, so yeah, some guy beat me to it. She wasn’t interested in me like that anyway, I was only a friend to her, I guess.’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have gone anywhere, you’re better off not having gone there.’

‘I still write to her,’ admitted Trassia. Someone had to deliver them to her and read them, so there was no way to include compromising details, but it was still worth keeping in touch. Somewhere in her old room at home there was a reply letter Myrtle had dictated to “My Dearest Travis”. Even if it had only been for the duration of school, or just a year, or a week, she would have made a good girlfriend.

A hand cut the good times short. ‘Please, let’s not dwell on your parade of desperation. So your coworker is putting the moves on you?’

All that could be given in affirmative tones was a shrug. ‘I really don’t know. When I first met her, she acted all friendly and silly, but now that I think about it, she could have just been drunk, and she could have been hitting on me as a drunk person and not as herself, so I guess maybe that makes more sense.’ Trassia stared out at nothing while her brain filed the paperwork on this new revelation.

‘Don’t self-psychoanalyse, you’ll only go insane,’ warned the Ravenclaw. ‘If she’s an alcoholic, stay away from her. She’ll drag you down with her when it all goes up in flames.’

‘I don’t know if she was flirting with me,’ countered Trassia. This was all still so confusing. Had she just slagged off her coworker for trying to be friendly? Ashe had just been trying to make small talk. She never even got a respectful reply, just insulted for her trouble.

‘Don’t ask,’ Vanessa advised. ‘Ignore it. Don’t flirt back, don’t accept compliments, and don’t give her any. Just be a coworker and tell the boss if she shows up sauced. If you get her fired, you can offer to cover her shifts and get more money.’

Trassia took a long, hard look at the girl on the couch. ‘Are you sure you’re not a Slytherin?’

Vanessa raised two fingers. ‘Sod off. So what’s for dinner?’

This morning still lingered in the back of the mind. ‘Uh, I don’t know. Apparently nobody likes my cooking unless I do egg and chips.’ 

The cat owner shrugged, ‘Just make something we can eat.’

Apparently she was making dinner now. Trassia reluctantly got up and headed over to the kitchen, putting the ice cream back in the wizarding equivalent of a refrigerator. In reality, a wooden box had merely been enchanted to hold a lot more space and generate cold energy. It was interesting to see the magical world from a muggle point of view.

All the ingredients they had left were eggs, potatoes, rice, and a few assorted cans of vegetables. A curry could do in a pinch. Nobody else seemed to be offering a solution.

The night in all its lurking nature didn’t accommodate sudden panic. A thunderclap broke from somewhere outside. Vibrations shook the building as glass shattered from the dome on the roof.

The thunder of footfalls definitely doubled for a nice alternative to picking dinner. Over a dozen pairs of shoes hammered down the stairs en masse. Dinner suddenly fell to the wayside. Curiosity had been given free reign of her body’s impulses. Her wand and wallet were still at hand, that was all that was needed. Trassia threw the door open and peered out.

Vanessa sat up and threw her arms in the air. ‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s something going on out here,’ Trassia replied. Now there were dozens filing down the stairs and out of the building. Some went up too, questing toward the roof.

Kaspar the house goblin barked orders from the lobby floor. ‘Get back to your rooms, everyone! I don’t care if it’s the end of the world! Get your filthy feet and sweaty hands off my stairs and back into your disgusting little hovels!’ Nobody was listening.

‘Probably a fire drill,’ Vanessa suggested. ‘Ignore it. It’s probably a fire drill.’

Then that was all the more reason to head out and see. ‘I’m going.’

Princess Of The Sofa groaned. ‘Ugh, fine. I’m coming along, then. Don’t run off and go get something to eat without me.’ Vanessa hopped up and grabbed her coat, leaving Walnut to simmer down alone from the sound.

Trassia and Vanessa too joined in the unruly throng running for the exit. Kaspar’s attempts to block the door were quickly rendered useless under the might of twenty or so students and assorted apartment-dwellers. Trassia led the two-person charge out into Murder Lane.

Nothing was to be seen save for the narrow, looming houses and the ever-perpetual gloom of the fog. A dozen anonymous residents burst out as well, looking around. At least in this section of Magical London, it was quiet.

Or it was. Another blast lit up the sky. White light turned the sky to day for a split second. Right at the last moment, Trassia clapped her hands over her ears just before the boom. Vanessa followed her lead. Not many others were that lucky. Unseen shockwaves pulsed through the air like wind through a screen. Force pushed down through every blood vessel. Nerves stung like a stricken funny bone. Almost a heart attack, the feeling held in the flesh long after.

Trassia pulled herself up off the street and reached for Vanessa. The welcoming arm up was accepted, and the woman crawled to her knees.

‘What the hell was that!?’ It took a moment for Vanessa to get up to her feet.

The Asian one shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It looks like it came from nearby.’

Vanessa nodded. ‘Yeah, really close judging by the light. Now I’m curious, come on. I can get us there faster going this way.’ She started walking.

‘What about the others? We can’t- but- okay.’ Trassia pointed feebly at the others. Nobody else was standing back up. One or two writhed on the ground and one more fortunate man sat on his knees, forehead to the stone, but nobody could rise.

The friend took the lead with a gesture. Off she went, down the wrong way, farther into the darkness of Murder Lane’s foggy abyss. Following along was the only option that made sense. Trassia watched intently in the foggy dark as they left the alley behind and ventured into the utter blackness.

Magic truly was strange. The sky blackened out until only a tunnel of shadows remained. More housing units provided meek light through rare windows, but every brick and stone faded fast to grey and black, trying hard to not exist.

‘Where are we?’ Trassia’s arms defensively. This place was a little creepy.

‘The Dark District,’ answered Vanessa. ‘My sister once dated a vampire who lived here.’

That was weird but interesting. ‘So how is this a shortcut?’

Vanessa drew out her wand. ‘Look for an old sign that says “Sudden Confusion”. We’ll go right there.

Another flash in the far distance backward sent strips of light into the Dark District. ‘Ears!’, Trassia shouted. This time they were ready. The thundering blast still brought her to her knees, but just a little less. It was concert speakers on full blast right next to the body. Both the girls were quick to climb back up and keep moving.

‘What’s going on out there?; Vanessa’s question went unheeded.

A minute of running found a little wooden sign on the right side of the narrow road, rickety and tattered. The Sudden Confusion Inn greeted them with oddly prescient timing.

‘So we go in here?’ Trassia looked the place up and down. A grand stoop and elaborate A-shaped doorway of ivory encased a black door made of gnarled wood. Elaborate windows were lit with red light. Shadowy, inhuman silhouettes sat by tables and drank substances that were likely not as biologically compatible with the human diet.

‘Oh god no,’ Vanessa replied. ‘We’d be eaten alive, literally. No, it’s just like Diagon Alley, we just have to use the right key sequence.’ Quicker than could be memorised, the witch tapped out an erratic pattern on the left side of the building, behind the old sign. Another door appeared, emerging from the black wall. There was no handle or lever, but it opened at the woman’s touch.

It had to be said. ‘Cool,’ admitted Trassia. She glanced around. ‘Creepy but cool.’

‘Come on!’ The reluctant ice cream-eater dragged her roommate through the portal, and out into… some other street. It was hard to recognise places one had never been to.

Over a tower of jack-o’-lanterns by a black brick wall, a torch glowed blood red. Several of its kind illuminated the area, giving macabre life to a red road and grim, grey sidewalks. Over on a black metal archway, a wooden sign had been carved out to bear the words “Jugulum Street”. Somehow in the ethereal beyonds of the infinite cosmos and all its unseen wisdom, a subtle, possible connection to the Dark District was ever so slightly sensed.

The door behind shut and vanished with a spiral wave of Vanessa’s wand, leaving only the painted mural of an open monster’s mouth in its place. There was some planning in this artful placement.

‘Where are we?’, asked Trassia.

Vanessa was not amused. Others emerged from various hiding places, some with gaunt features and pointed ears. The next wave of the blast hit like a sledgehammer. One or two were wise enough to follow the girls’ example. All the rest fled or fell to the ground. This time nothing hid the light. A crooked tower of blue energy burned hot as a sun, glowing white as it emanated out. Like lightning in reverse it shot up and out toward the sky. A hundred million sparks fell like a rain of fireworks across the city.

A hand of warning swifty pulled Trassia under a narrow outcropping from the building above. Vanessa shook her head, already under cover. ‘I don’t know what those lights are, but don’t let them touch you.’ She held her roommate back while the rain of lights slowly fell to the ground like snow. Nothing happened, and they faded into the brickwork. Then Vanessa let go.

‘I don’t know what that was, but just stay clear, okay?’ The brunette nodded and once more led the way. ‘It looks like it’s coming from Turncoat Way. That’s not far.’ Was it not? It was hard to tell.

‘Where’s that?’ Trassia had to ask. Not knowing this city and hearing random street names was ridiculous. This city really was turning into a dungeon crawling game.

Vanessa started walking. ‘We’re on the other side of Tendril Lane right now. We just go East from here and keep running.’

At least she knew where Tendril Lane was. It was a start. Next up was Amaranthe Avenue, then left, up Knight Hill, then right over to Lockhart Plaza. From all over, people left their houses and gathered in the streets. Turncoat way sat to the south, down from Blaise Street over to the east.

Turncoat Way was no different in the long run. Slanted, diagonal buildings changed from bricks to wood, then to layered stone, and anything else around every other corner. Buildings tilted to one side like the leaning tower of Piza. Houses and shops jutted out over each other’s space like mutating cacti. In the centre of the wide street, between large trees and beside a fountain, a raised podium had been erected for any number of public occasions.

Too many bodies littered the street. They formed a wall of hushed whispers as everyone stared through to the scene beyond. A dome of light cut through the night upon the podium. Nothing was visible above the sea of heads, save for vague shapes- and a boy. Silvery platinum hair caught the light as its owner levitated in the air, lifted by the chest like a ragdoll on an unseen string. Lifeless, Rufus Mooney floated as if in water.

‘What- what d’you suppose is going on?’ Trassia looked to her companion for feedback.

More spells flew. Back and forth went the dazzling bolts of light. Red popped out against the inside of the barrier and crackled. Black light from a second attack bounced around in the dome a dozen times before colliding with Mooney. Another explosion burned the sky immediately after. Trassia covered her ears. Seventeen years of fleeing from superior spells had honed her instincts. This time Vanessa wasn’t so lucky.

There was no pain. The gonging of a hundred thunderous drums rippled through every molecule. Atoms tried with all their might to shake apart. Consciousness didn’t eb: It ceased in the face of endiness. Trassia stared at nothing until the roar of light subsided. The ability to think and feel crept back over the seconds.

Over a hundred had gathered to watch. Less than ten stood up. Trassia struggled to her knees. Everything was on instinct now. Light fell in snowflake powder from the sky, spreading like spores across the city.

Vanessa had said to avoid those. Right now it was the only logic remaining in the world. It mattered. Her limp body laid among the others, crumpled under a large man and a pregnant woman. Trassia pulled on an arm until muscles strained. Her female body didn’t have the muscle practice, it was still soft and weak. Eventually the girl came loose from the pile. Nobody looked or cared. Trassia dragged Vanessa over to a hanging canopy and sat, covered. There was still enough of an angle to see through the trees.

Someone else stood up this time, visible in the dome of light. Long, black hair blew wild in an unseen wind. A feminine form distinguished itself. The being raised their wand to the other shape still on the ground. It tried to climb up to its knees. This time a green bolt of energy was fired.

It was blocked. A third figure appeared from nowhere as the spell was fired off. Something fell from their hand, going limp as soon as it hit the floor. All turned to calm while the human figures faced off. After a minute, the woman backed away. Her wand was lowered.

There was nothing Trassia could do. She was just some girl in the street, watching as a rain of light saturated into the sleeping bodies of a hundred or more people, all lifeless on the floor of the living city. Weak arms held Vanessa close.

Back in the centre of the chaos was where the world spun. Nothing else mattered the same way. A glint of glasses fell from their owner as the third party kicked the kneeling victim back down to the ground. They turned then to Rufus. It was hard to stop watching. The movie wasn’t over until the credits rolled. One arm reached out to the boy.

White turned to black. The night healed as the wound closed in the sky closed. Lightning ceased, and the dome of energy dissipated. Rufus slowly fell back down to the ground, lowered as though by cables.

Faces of the people were now visible. Trassia memorised every aspect. Brown hair, wild eyes, unshaven scruff, that was the male by Rufus. The attacker, that was female. Long black hair, dark clothes, her face was-

A sharp inhale cut the air. Trassia clapped a quiet hand to her mouth. Professor Mantacora walked away from the scene and disappeared. That woman, that was the impostor that posed as a teacher for seven years to watch Rufus.

On the ground, there were the signature glasses of another familiar face. Black hair and green eyes screamed the name Harry Potter. The standing man knelt over the source of the disturbance, until Harry reached for an object. A boot stamped down upon his hand. Not long after, a wand was lowered down to Potter’s wrist, helpless to resist.

More turns and twists were always mandatory. It was the way of the world. Not everyone was unconscious. Three different blasts of magical energy hurtled out from the faceless fallen in the crowd. A trio of witches and wizards rose up.

The battle was on. Then it was off, in about three seconds. A glance alone forced the assailant on the podium away. The offending wand was withdrawn from Potter’s arm. Instantly, the stranger was gone as quick as he arrived. Under the cover of the balcony, Trassia watched while the rescuers rushed the podium and helped Harry Potter to his feet. It was just one thing after another in this city.

Dinner was off, then.


	6. The Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the forces of chaos unleashed and the city now suffering a brand new state of emergency, seemingly insignificant witness Trassia deals with the aftermath.

Events just kept happening. This was too hard not to watch. Trassia sat in her corner like a child in time-out and eyed up the events. Dear Mr. Potter was helped to his feet and his wand was collected from nearby. Someone tossed a dead badger away off the platform and into the crowd. He didn’t even care. With all immediacy, Harry rushed over to the unconscious young Mooney and checked his pulse. A nod on his part seemed to suggest a positive outcome. One of the other wizards helped Harry lift the boy up.

A shock of blue locks stood out among the select few still standing, now by Potter’s side. She looked around at the crowd with her wand ready. Like a lump of potatoes, Mooney laid slumped over another wizard’s shoulder. Everyone stood vigil around the teen, forming a triangle of security.

One by one, bodies lifted from the streets. Knees and elbows bent as tendons and ligaments returned to function, awakened from borderline rigor mortis. Trassia remained huddled under the shop’s canopy. Moving around and getting involved felt really stupid right now. Being seen especially felt unwise.

Mr. Potter cleared the air. A wave of his wand cast an unseen aura across the street’s reaches. ‘Everyone, stand back, please. Don’t leave the area and don’t reach for your wands. If you’ll kindly wait there, we’ll have everything back to normal in a few minutes.’ Not he nor his ilk turned their backs. The trinity of eager wands pointed at faces one by one as the triangle of power up on the podium slowly turned in a circle, each of them with their backs to the boy and his carrier in the middle.

Over a hundred bodies lingered silently around the podium. They weren’t still. One by one, then two by two, three, four, eight, thirty, they began to move in.

‘Stand back!’, shouted Harry forcefully. His wand now threatened with intent. ‘All of you, get away, now!’

The blue-haired girl spoke up. ‘They’re not listening!’

Still holding Mooney’s body, the dark-haired man in the middle took his turn to talk. ‘What the hell is wrong with their eyes?’

What was wrong? Moving now just to check it out sounded incredibly stupid. All Trassia could do was hide like a child and wait. Better witches and wizards were at work. They knew more about this and what was going on. All she was good for was to bear witness.

A few stragglers at the back of the horde yielded some obscure clues. Faint white light burned in the pupils of their eyes. The living mannequins slogged forward toward the gathering of their kindred. Women, children, old and young men all filled their ranks. They didn’t stop moving toward the triangle of might.

There was no more time to deliberate. ‘Everyone, join hands. Let’s go!’ Harry’s order focused the group.

They did as told, but nothing happened. ‘I can’t apparate!’, shouted the blue-haired woman.

‘Neither can I,’ said the other, quiet man. Only a bowler hat and a moustache distinguished him.

‘Then we fight,’ Harry ordered. ‘Disarming spells only! I don’t care who they are!’

By now the shambling mob had begun to climb the podium. The jointed, raised spires could only offer so much space. The group began to open fire. In a split second the street erupted into a fireworks display. Spells flew like arrows and bullets. Wands were no less than guns made of wood. Lifeless people fell back like dominoes only to get back up. Living zombies continued to harass the trio. Guns weren’t enough.

Whatever spell erupted from Harry’s wand next broke through the crowd like a solar flare. Fiery light forced back everything in its wake, at least by ten feet. Now the group had room to move, and did. The five- three support fighters, Harry, and the limp body of Mooney all travelled away from Trassia, violently clearing a path with a spray of coloured sparks. Soon they left the range of sight. Only the sounds of their spells told the tale of their fading journey.

_Good luck._ Those lights had fallen all across the city. There was nowhere to go if they couldn’t teleport to safety or find a secure building. The lights didn’t seem to pass through wood or stone. It was hard to tell if they would even know that. That lot was likely in for a surprise.

Back on Turncoat Way, the possessed eyes of a hundred or more now turned toward two young women huddled under the canopy of Sneral’s Solvents. This had suddenly turned from “not good” to “hellish”.

‘Um… uh, I don’t know what to do.’ Trassia pulled a lock of crimson and black hair from her round face and bit her lip. Extra strands caught under her teeth.

These were still human beings, hurting them wasn’t right. Moving wasn’t really an option with Vanessa still out cold. A few polite taps didn’t wake her up, nor did two rude slaps. This chick needed to not be here right now. There was no choice but to heft Vanessa up on her back and move.

It took all her might not to give in as her knees buckled. This stupid, weak body had never been given time to exercise or do anything. Travis stole all the usefulness. Force of will alone pulled Trassia’s frame up and along the streets, anywhere. Vanessa had led them… somewhere to get to here. Some place called Knight Hill sounded familiar, but where that was, was not coming clear. This city was a maze of vague and mystifying streets. Anywhere could just happen to magically end up somewhere else.

_Wait._ Lockhart Plaza connected directly to Turncoat Way. It was familiar. Trassia stumbled along back to there, and into the way of even more star-eyed zombies. Her feet stopped in place at the sight of a familiar face.

Frazzled blonde hair stood out, even in a crowd. Electric blue eyes glowed white in their cosmic centres. Eudora Skeeter hadn’t made it to cover. At least she couldn’t ask any more inconvenient questions for the time being.

Most of this crowd seemed to be distracted. Two or three noticed Trassia and her friend and gave slow pursuit. At the slogging rate it took to carry an unconscious lump, the speeds were about tied. This time she could get away.

A scream from across the plaza tore attention from intention. Trassia paused, gathering her feeble breath, and turned to look. It was easier to walk away. It was even easier to drop Vanessa and run. Neither of those sounded appealing. Trassia drew her wand.

‘Who are you?’ Her voice echoed in the street. ‘Are you okay?’ More of them turned around to face Trassia.

A child called back. ‘Help me, please!’

Why was the urge to be a coward so strong? The pull toward freedom beckoned. It was in vain. She had to try something. Trassia raised her wand to the encroaching swarm. ‘Hang on! Are you safe?’

‘Help!’ That was the only response given.

She had no real choice. The motions had been practiced. Seven summers had led to this. _Counter-clockwise, turn it up in the centre._ She knew the motions like the beat of her heart. ‘ _Hangseong!_ ’

Pure magic flared forth from the tip of her wand. A burst of light glowed like an exploding prism, detonating as it made contact with one from the horde, knocking them back like a bat to a baseball. Light turned into literal fireworks and burst out in all directions. Every sparking flare found another target to batter with concussive force. At least fifteen of them went down. None of them got back up.

Shock chilled the spine. It lifted like a balloon in the chest. It worked. It was real magic. ‘ _Whoa, mom._ ’

There were more spells to try, and no shortage of enemies. ‘ _Suyul._ ’ A thrust forward formed the driving motion necessary to cast it. A turn of the wrist inward unlocked the magic, turning her hand until her fist’s curled pinky pointed to the sky. This time an orange-red light shot out of the wand and into the chest of one singular target. The being doubled over. It also rose back up. Convulsing twitches painted the pain on the man’s face.

_No. No,_ this was wrong. This was a bad spell. Trassia flicked her wand away, breaking the spell. It was only suffering. It also didn’t seem to work.

What others were immediate, off the top of her head? This wasn’t the time for thinking. It was time for instinct. Another bloody scream from across the plaza forced action.

Anything would do. ‘ _Muneojida!_ ’ A sudden, stiff lift of the arm into a 45-degree angle was met with an equal drop of the hand, wrist high to the clouds. A brilliant burst of cosmic green stardust shattered the stone below the feet of a dozen people. They dropped into the pitfall without warning.

Trassia kept her free right hand wrapped around Vanessa’s arm, holding her in place. They had room to move, at least up to the hole.

‘ _Tteollim!_ ’ A whisper went a long way. Her wand hand snapped upward toward the air, flicking the wand at space. A ray of silver light emanated like a ten around Trassia. Scouring might forced each bright-eyed being to their knees and hands. They backed away, out of the circle of energy. This was the one. Nobody bothered her anymore. All the enslaved humanoids slunk back and away from the glow. A sea of people parted like a line as the mindless began to anticipate her moves. Soon they left the scene bare, where a child laid on the ground.

Trassia kept her wand aloft. It seemed to work, at least for a while. There was no way to check on the child without dropping Vanessa. She had to, lowering the woman down over her shoulder and by her knees, within reach and in sight.

A little child laid on the ground, splayed out like a broken bird that hit a glass window. Blonde curls dusted the rosy little face of a seven year-old girl. Whoever she was, she was alone. No parents came forward to claim her. Trassia pressed a pair of fingers to the girl’s neck. A faint pulse eased some fear. There were bruises and cuts, but blood still beat in her veins.

It was instinct that fuelled survival. Trassia turned her head back and forth at the crowd, even up to the windows and roofs above. Paranoia had its uses. Nothing approached while the spell was still in effect, but that was a fleeting endeavour with two tasks sitting before her.

What was she going to do about the child? There was no way to carry both of them and keep repelling these… people. What had she done? They were stuck. She was stranded. Maybe her Travis body could carry both of them and struggle off down another street, but to where? These things were everywhere. There was no door behind her, just a wall that led off down an unknown road. The closest known one was Blaise Street, and that was not going to help.

On top of that, what guarantee did she have that nobody would remember seeing this? She used a lot of violent magic only a minute ago. If they ever recovered and retained the knowledge of her not only attacking them but transforming into a man, it would be a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Prison wasn’t worth this.

There was no solution. Trassia sat in the dark, watching the night close in. Little by little, the area of effect of the wand’s power began to dwindle.

If it was a minute, it felt like an hour. If it was an hour, it felt true to every moment. At some point the creatures got bored when a new fascination somewhere off in the distance. No time was wasted. By now her legs had rested.

A sound called away Trassia’s attention. ‘Why do I feel like I haven’t slept in three days?’ Vanessa feebly climbed to her- _well,_ almost to her feet. Her hands and knees were the best she could manage,

‘You were right,’ said Trassia. ‘If we hadn’t avoided those lights, we’d be dead. Look at- those people, they’re… not. Not. They’re not.’ She shook her head.

This drew Vanessa’s weak focus. ‘What?’ Her eyes scanned around the plaza at the mindless collective. ‘What the hell did I miss?’

There was no real time. Trassia slung the child onto her own back and helped Vanessa up. ‘We have to go. Rufus Mooney was there at the light we found. He- Harry, Harry fought with- th- there was magic.’

Vanessa let out a weary groan. ‘There was _what?_ Speak proper sentences for once.’

Where were they going? Knight Hill, that was it. ‘Harry fought! Rufus was floating and Harry- Harry was duelling. Green light, magic. Death magic. Dead badger-’

‘Oh my god,’ moaned Vanessa. ‘Shut up, it’s not worth it. Just get me back home.’

If it stopped her whining then it was fine. ‘Okay. You might have to lead, I don’t know where anything is.’

That bitter, judging sigh cut like a knife. ‘ _Fine._ Just walk with me and I’ll do all the work.’

‘What do we do about the little girl?’ The child laid there on the ground, helpless. ‘We can’t leave her here alone.’

Vanessa glanced around before she looked down. ‘What child- oh. Where did she come from?’

Trassia haphazardly pointed her wand. ‘Here. She was being attacked. I- I don’t know what these people want or why, but they just sort of mauled her. Her injuries look superficial, just some cuts and bruises. It’s weird.’

‘These people are possessed,’ replied Vanessa. ‘They’re not thinking logically.’ A hand rose to rub her vexed forehead. ‘They’re gone, nothing’s attacking us anymore. Look, can’t we just leave her here?’

Trassia paused long and hard. A lasting stare watched the woman.

‘I know you don’t get it. You were raised by muggles and you can’t comprehend anything more complex than first year schooling, but it’s simple: This is a child. If we bring her anywhere, it’s kidnapping. Her parents are probably out here somewhere, being possessed. Let them find her and whatever happens next isn’t our problem. Okay?’ Vanessa stared back with all the patronising force of a politician.

This woman was unbelievable. ‘I hope you never have children,’ Trassia replied calmly.

A shrug met her in response. ‘What, why? Because I’m not a kidnapper?’

‘We can at least bring her to the police,’ asserted Trassia. ‘There has to be a station around here somewhere.’ Dad had passed on his fair share of building knowledge over the years. Urban planning had to count for something, even in a magical world. If there was a high-income district right next to a public centre, then there was bound to be a branch of law enforcement somewhere nearby. Prominent families would pay for higher city security, especially next to a public nexus. Even if there was only one ministry of magic building that enforced policing, London was a big place. It had to have some sort of easy shortcut system to mitigate the risks of magical travel and get around quickly. It would have a branch nearby unless the wizarding world was just that loony.

Vanessa shrugged and tossed her head away. ‘Whatever, fine. Don’t blame me if we get killed for this.’ She clapped a hand on Trassia’s shoulder and pointed down the street. ‘You see that building over there, the really plain one with the letters “D.M.L.E.” on the door? That stands for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It’s wizard police, since you don’t know.’ Her tone was a verbal slap in the face. It was a teacher to an idiot child.

_You patronising… fine, whatever._ ‘Okay.’ In-between an accounting office and a law firm was the little, plain building in question. The plaza was relatively clear. By now Vanessa could stumble along with minimal assistance. It was left to Trassia to carry the girl to safety.

‘There’s probably nobody there,’ Vanessa warned. ‘If there were, they’re likely dead. Everyone probably rushed out to deal with the lightning in the sky and got infected.’

That wasn’t worth dwelling on. ‘Let’s just see what happens before we get carried away.’

Vanessa knocked on the door first. Nobody responded. She turned the door handle next. It opened. There was some relief in the world. Trassia and her friend clumsily piled in, child in tow. It wasn’t what was expected, looking inside.

A plain office had been decorated with gentle green wallpaper and an antique grandfather clock in the far right corner. Uncomfortable wooden chairs with thin cushions sat patiently against the entrance wall, lining up to the right behind a white line. A wooden desk encircled a little woman over to the left, paper neatly organised into piles all over its surface. It could only be yet more magic that caused the paper files to lift up and float away of their own volition, only to be replaced by new articles for the desk clerk to fill out. After floating into the inbox, they folded up into paper planes and shot off through a head-height hatch in a door in the back-left corner of the room.

The desk worker kept her eyes on her paperwork. Trassia stepped in and forward until a sign sprung down from the ceiling like a spring-loaded frying pan, missing her face only by the shortness of her little nose. Eyes struggled to focus until she backed up a little.

“PLEASE TAKE A SEAT UNTIL YOU ARE CALLED.”

_Alright, then._ Trassia backed away from the white line and found a seat by the door. Vanessa followed along and helped the mystery child into a spot between the two. Seconds ticked by into minutes while the two girls exchanged awkward glances now and then. The ticking of the old clock picked away at the silence like a hammer and chisel.

The city was going to pieces from a zombie invasion and she was sitting in an office, doing nothing. What a world it was. As long as the irony was thick as bread, there was no point in being bored and miserable. Trassia picked out her earphones and popped them in. She switched her portable music player to random.

Then a curious elbow butted in. Vanessa leaned over and whispered something. It was nothing doing with the music on. Trassia pulled one of her earphones out.

‘Yeah?’

Vanessa pointed at the item in her hand. ‘ _What are you listening to?_ ’

Trassia shrugged. ‘ _A bit of everything. Why?_ ’

Her offended face spelled volumes of distaste as Vanessa rolled her eyes. ‘ _Give me one of those. I want to listen. It’s boring here, and you owe me._ ’

Being a pushover was frustrating. ‘ _Fine,_ ’ muttered Trassia. ‘ _I’ll lend you this, for now._ ’ Wording was important.

Vanessa plugged it in and listened for a moment. ‘ _I can’t understand this song, this is in Japanese._ ’ Of course she had to complain.

Next in the roster of replies was a head shake. ‘ _It’s in Korean,_ ’ said the Korean girl with a chuckle. ‘ _Deal with it._ ’

There was a very good chance that everyone was dead and London was burning to the ground. Centaurs could have rushed in and conquered the country. House-elves may very well have stripped off their shackles of oppression and run naked through the streets. It didn’t make a difference in the office, as the girls sat and bobbed their heads in time to the music. Plain reddish-pink lips moved perfectly in synch with every syllable as Trassia mouthed along to the lyrics. It was Vanessa’s turn next when it changed to an English pop song.

It was hard not to, as Trassia desperately tried to stifle a laugh. Of course Vanessa listened to Elves Of The House. Boyband love song defined her _so perfectly_.

Some unspecified time later, a piece of paper flew over to the seated trio and presented itself to Trassia. ‘Fill it out and then we’ll talk,’ said the woman at the counter, just a frail little thing with wrinkled skin, glasses, and brown hair in a bun.

Now it came time to be an adult, however that worked. Trassia glanced feebly at the form before her and managed to translate it the best she could. It wanted her name, phone number if applicable, address, nature of the emergency, and any other relevant information.

She couldn’t help but look over to Vanessa, who shrugged. ‘I say we leave the kid here and go.’

The words alone pushed her onward. Trassia searched for a pen until one magically floated over and into her hand. [DETOnATE] by Black Soul Sorcerers began pumping Korean wizard metal into her head. The comatose little bundle of black eyes and scratched skin waited on her, limp in her chair. Where were her parents now? Where was anyone that would care?

She could do this. It was better than abandoning some defenceless child. Trassia scribbled down all the pertinent information. The police now knew who she was and where she lived. Giving them Travis’ phone number though, that was out of the question. It would be too big a tell to hand over to people likely looking to hunt her down for suspected terrorism. They had enough. Hopefully under “purpose of visit” filing a report about Rufus Mooney exploding and magically possessed zombies roaming the streets sounded less insane than it looked. The evidence spoke for itself. There was no name to leave for the little girl. Hopefully she knew her own identity.

She couldn’t sit in a police station all night, or expect Vanessa to. Whoever the kid was, she was safer indoors with the police- hopefully. They still served and protected in the wizarding world, probably.

As soon as Trassia filled out the last line, the form flew away, dragging the pen with it. The receptionist looked it over with scrutiny, then deigned to eye up the three waiting persons.

‘So you’re dropping off a lost child, is the gist of it,’ said the woman. That certainly cut through the red tape.

Trassia nodded. ‘Yes, madam.’

Cautious vision reassessed the paper then turned back to the girl. ‘Trassia Barnes?’

‘Yes?’ She stood still as a post.

The woman pursed her pruny lips. ‘Don’t leave town. We may be in touch.’

Something about that sounded not so delightful to look forward to. Trassia could only nod again. ‘Yes, madam.’

It took less than a second for the older lady to return to her endless paperwork. A hand shooed them away apathetically. Vanessa wasted no time hopping up and running out the door. A hand slapped the earphone back into Trassia’s palm on the way.

‘Come on, about time.’ Vanessa was out.

The little blonde child laid helplessly in a chair, limp as a ragdoll. Nerves and muscles worked on their own as Trassia bit her own lip. Teeth dug in. _Please be okay._

Time never stood still. It ticked on in or out of the waiting room. She got up and gave a little bow to the woman at the counter. Time saw Trassia disappear outside soon after, and close the door.

Vanessa started walking. ‘At last. Let’s get home.’

Like a loyal little duckling, Trassia followed along in tow. The plaza was now empty. That was a word, but it wasn’t a meaning. Empty had nothing in it to see, at least of something. Empty of possessed people roaming the streets, it was that. It wasn’t devoid of life.

Before the lightning arced up and split open the sky from the energy of Rufus, people laid empty in the street, glued to the pavement by the lack of drive to stay conscious. Time had moved forward into a point it had already passed. People once more laid in the road, unmoving. Something had happened in the moments between then and now.

There was no sound. There was nothing. The plaza was empty.

Only breath cut through the cold glaze of silence. Vanessa took in air sharply through her nose. ‘Are they dead?’ She stood a little closer.

Trassia could offer little more than a shrug. ‘I don’t really want to check. Maybe whatever happened wore off.’

‘Maybe.’

She nodded. ‘Maybe.’ Trassia stepped forward first now. Bodies littered the stones like chess tiles. Spaces between arms and faces offered indiscreet footholes. Nothing jumped out at her while she took a motion into the fallen crowd.

When it looked clear enough, Vanessa followed along, inching like an acrobatic turtle. Neither girl seemed to want to step on the sleepers. She didn’t go to Knight Hill this time. The girl made her way off toward Blaise Street, indirectly dragging her partner in tow.

‘Where are we going?’, asked Trassia, a bit befuddled. They’d come from Spooky Halloween Boulevard to get here, not through Rich Ponce Street.

‘Home,’ Vanessa retorted, irritable as a constipated gorilla.

A finger pointed back in the other direction. ‘But we came from that way, through the Dark District.’

‘It was a shortcut, yeah,’ said Vanessa, stepping again around bodies. ‘We’re not supposed to go through there, I just took a shortcut.’

It had become a game of Dodge The Bodies. ‘What’s wrong with it? Why are we living next to it if we’re not supposed to go there?’, asked Trassia with authentic curiosity.

A cocky laugh split the cautious quiet. ‘We live in a low-rent slum, kid. We’re broke students, not rich bastards like these people,’ Vanessa replied. A hand gestured to the three-bathroom mansions and castles on private hills, all with expansive yards and personal towers. ‘The Dark District is basically an entirely different London, and we happen to live next to one of the portals in.’

Nobody was moving from their spots on the ground. It was a little safer now. ‘Another London?’, asked Trassia, repeating the seemingly obvious.

Vanessa groaned wearily. ‘Just like how London and Magical London were separated after the second Wizarding War to prevent any unnecessary harm or interaction with muggles, all the undead and dark denizens get their own version of the city to live in. Thank Granger, she made a deal with them as a peace offering. She helped construct a city for them so they’d be able to garner more public acceptance. Occasionally strong or dark witches and wizards go in the Dark District for business, but it’s still a dangerous place, just like our world is for them.’

_Granger._ Something so darkly tempting and fascinating suddenly turned sour to the thought. ‘Cool.’ The word slipped out, cold and apathetic. The need to know still broke free. ‘So why do you go there if it’s dangerous?’

Vanessa garnered a shrug. ‘It’s a shortcut to my university.’

Why did it have to be so fascinating? The depths of her goth-addled, leather jacket-wearing, black-booted core smiled from within at the mere mention. ‘Is there anywhere safe for people to go in there?’

An ‘ugh’ painted the scene well enough. ‘I’m gonna find you dead in there one day on my way to school, aren’t I?’

Of all the macabre times to let it out, now was the worst. Trassia chuckled. ‘I mean, I couldn’t not help but try the for- ack.’ There she went again. Her traitorous tongue defied her. What had she even been trying to say that time?

The thought was mutual. ‘Can’t you talk normally for once?’, demanded Trassia softly.

‘No,’ the girl replied immediately. ‘I can’t control it. Sometimes I just get tongue-tied, and it gets worse the more stressed I am. It all builds up and it’s like I trip on my own words, okay? Like sometimes I’ll try to say something like “I want to go to the store” and my brain will think “I’d like to go to the store” and I’ll meet in the middle and look like an idiot and say “I want to go to the like store”.

At least Vanessa laughed at that. It was a real laugh. A smile accompanied the sound. ‘You are such a dork.’

_Yes, definitely._ ‘And sometimes I’ll be trying to talk and I won’t know what to say but I’ll keep talking and random stuff will come out. My brain just throws garbage out when it can’t keep up. Talking isn’t my strong suit.’

Vanessa kept giggling along. It was better than mockery- maybe.

One jump at a time, Trassia relieved her hopscotch days. ‘I always get this feeling when I talk like I’m just pretending to make conversation and I don’t really know where it’s going. I’m always worried if I’m saying something important or keeping up, or trying to catch up when I suddenly lose focus in the middle of the person talking and start thinking about raisins or something stupid. Like, are they okay talking? Am I bothering them? Did I overstay my welcome and I’m just rambling about crap they don’t want to hear?’

‘Absolutely,’ Vanessa responded.

‘Really, you understand? You’ve been there?’ Maybe she wasn’t alone? An awkward smile crossed Trassia’s lips.

‘No, I mean you’re definitely talking gibberish.’

_Ouch._ Trassia sighed.

The next turn was down a road called Uther Approach. It was only more overly-fanciful domiciles standing elegantly in defiance of the middle and lower classes peppered all about the rest of the fair city. Magnificent shrubbery sprung out from rounded wells of soil along the streets. Living marble statues now openly remorsed at the tragedy of their horizontal spectators.

If empty applied, this street was not. Dim lights shone in the distance, each in pairs. Eyes were alight as bodies shambled along.

Then they didn’t. Three figures remained standing while all the rest dropped, their figurative cords cut. Lights were plucked from their faces and pulled into a sphere in the hands of one of the standing trio.

More than a few different thoughts rumbled around in Trassia’s brain. ‘Is… is this good?’ She dared not move until she got an answer.

A shrug was no consolation. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably aurors. Hey!’ It was Vanessa this time to take action. ‘What’s going on? What happened to everyone?’

Three figures turned all at once to face the human sound. Feet and legs weren’t involved at all in this as their entire bodies spun in place.

‘Oh no.’ The roommate took a step back, accidentally stepping on a fallen man’s shoulder. Her breath stilled to a shallow hiss.

Fear was suddenly contagious. ‘What is it? Wh- are we going?’

‘Yeah, right now. Those are vampires. This is very bad.’

The stock movie effect suddenly gained credibility when the ghastly trio sailed along the ground without walking, and drifted toward the duo. A little trickle of mist billowed out from the form of the figure in front.

‘Do we run?’ It felt like a good time to ask.

Vanessa nodded to the affirmative. ‘Yeah, now.’

And they did.

Right into the wall of three blocking their path. Trassia stopped in place. Back behind her, the vampires were gone. They’d definitely teleported. Vanessa’s arm shot out to hold her acquaintance back. Her eyes didn’t leave the undead.

‘Uh, good… night to you,’ Vanessa stated, dolloped with a large spoonful of hesitance.

The one in front stood out first. Long, silver hair shone like glossy silk in the moonlight, conflicting with purple eyes like amethyst. Pale skin like virgin snow was artfully sculpted around high, strong cheekbones and a pointed chin. He could be twenty-five. He could have been two hundred and fifty. A purple gothic suit with a black collar and neck ruffles looked like it cost a fortune just to look at. Black dress shoes came to winklepicker points at the end. If they were made out of anything other than the rarest leathers, it was a difficult deception. Around his neck, an ornate white amulet made of fangs held an opal jewel in its centre, glimmering like a rainbow.

‘Greetings, to both of you,’ said he. A thick Romanian accent flowed out like wine. A nimble tongue misplaced no sound.

It was instinct. Trassia gave a cultural bow, keeping her eyes on the intruders. ‘Greetings,’ she returned. It was better than screaming.

Cold, thin lips wrenched into a crooked smile. ‘I see you have some manners. I like that.’ Those purple jewels darted between the girls. ‘We come in peace.’ He read every inch of their body language. ‘We come by invitation.’

Trassia glanced on over to her roommate. Vanessa wasn’t talking. It was up to her. ‘Who invited you?’

The crooked sliver of a smile took on a sinister, cutting edge. ‘The Minister For Magic has extended a request for our assistance, through the DMLE. I am sure you will hear of this by morning.’ In return, custom for custom, the man gave a bow. Soon he and his companions departed for new vectors of the city.

Curiosity was a leash. Trassia followed along. A tug on her arm couldn’t stop her, no matter how Vanessa tried. Worry married into fear, bouncing off the light in the roommate’s green jade eyes.

On a street named King’s Chapel, a large cathedral stole the show. The vampiric trio laughed as they walked into its shadow, cast by the light of the moon through the wounds in the clouds. Another hundred or more humans patrolled the streets. Some knelt over the battered forms of those without the glow.

The silver-haired one beckoned to a black-haired woman to his right, clad in a silky red dress, crimson as dinner. ‘Nisshoku, if you will.’

She gave a nod and raised a misty sphere in her right hand. Her left thumb hooked onto the chain of a pendant around her neck. It happened again: The lights left en masse from the possessed witches and wizards haunting the streets. They all dropped like flies. As for the energy, into the luminous sphere it went like a vacuum.

‘Another sector cleared,’ said the woman. There was no way Vanessa would know, but the sound was distinct enough to come through clear to Trassia. That was a Japanese accent poised on her tongue.

The silver creature nodded. ‘How many do you suppose Dimitri’s lot have done by now? I say we can pull ahead and win the majority.’ He didn’t turn around. ‘So you follow, yes?’ Words spoke with a power, directly into her ears.

Trassia nodded, for some reason. Nobody could really see it. ‘Hi, again.’

He kept walking, allies in tow. ‘If you must, feel free. You shall not be harmed on your home soil, but do not get in our way.’

The Japanese woman spoke up again. ‘We were supposed to have an auror escort anyway. They might as well bear witness.’

That was a relief. ‘Thank you,’ Trassia replied. ‘So… what’s going on?’ She walked after the vampires while they cleaned the streets.

Intrinsic style still filled the air of their presence. The silvermane and his attachés floated an inch above the ground instead of walking. They moved on to a new street. ‘If you must follow, know me by my title, child. I am Corvatus the third of the house of d’Exsola, though my stature likely means nothing to you.’

Trassia said nothing toward that. It was best not to show her ignorance. ‘It’s nice to meet you. My name is Trassia Barnes. I don’t have any family history, I’m just me.’

It made Corvatus smile at the notion, as he drifted backwards down the street. His eyes fixed on the young woman. ‘There is nothing wrong with that. In that case, your legacy starts with you. You may build a noble standing with your own two hands and bring honour to your descendants. This is the way of the vampire. Family runs deep. Blood is our wings, and our chains.’ Damn it if he wasn’t gorgeous. Not watching his pretty face was a real struggle. It had to be a vampire thing.

She could only nod at this. ‘I respect that. So if I may, what are you doing? I mean, what is that crystal ball, and that pendant?’

The third vampire looked to his superior, who nodded. Dark skin highlighted pretty silver eyes. Long black hair had been braided into dreadlocks down to his broad shoulders. As for clothes, a brown trenchcoat was accessorised with big black boots covered in buckles. He too had a neck accessory. This one was silver with a red jewel. ‘Your people are possessed by residue of the dead. Soul fragments of those without rest have leaked out from some source and poured across the city. They don’t know what they want, because they’re just mindless splinters of dead intelligence. They are confused and violent. For wizards, this poses no simple task to cleanse. For us, this is first-year magic. We work with death every day.’ An African accent of some origin coated his deep, booming voice like a lion growl. He pulled a sausage in a bun out of his pocket and began to stuff it in his face.

Something stood out there. A shinier-than-ordinary needle glimmered in the needlestack. ‘Wait, wait… you have a school? You do magic?’

Vanessa nodded meekly. ‘Yeah, they do.’

The dark man laughed. ‘Of course.’ He held his amulet aloft. Light shone through his coat from in his armpits. ‘You have wands, we have amulets. You have Hogwarts, we have Nox Aeterna. What you call the “Dark District”, we call Night London. Even we have rights, you know.’

‘I’m- I’m glad to hear it,’ Trassia replied, hopefully in a polite tone. This just got more and more interesting.

Nisshoku nodded, slicing into the discourse like a sword unsheathed. Eyes the colour of blood forced Trassia still. ‘While you have witches and wizards, we know only the word for sorcerers. We distinguish our kind by race and breed.’ The woman sneered haughtily, with a mouth full of normal human teeth. Her pendant bore an emerald. If one had to guess by the design, the base looked like it was designed out of a manticore tail stinger.

‘There are different kinds of vampires?’, Trassia asked, utterly transfixed by the idea. No, of course there were, that was a stupid question. ‘Are- are there gangsi around here?’

The Japanese woman cackled out loud, tossing her head back. ‘You mean Jiangshi, Chinese hopping vampires. Yes, we have them.’ This woman had no fangs either.

Corvatus bore a toothy grin, allowing himself a snicker. ‘Fun at parties and raves, but not so good for conversation. Yes, we have those in our world. You are half-Korean, yes? I gather on your mother’s side.’ Discs of purple virtually X-rayed Trassia, body and mind.

‘Uh- yes,’ she obliged. He was good.

An elbow slammed into Trassia’s own. Vanessa glowered at her. ‘ _Shut up! They’re reading your mind, you idiot! Clear your thoughts!_ ’

It was hard when Corvatus was so handsome. Trassia wandered after the gaunt trio like a rat to a piper.

Corvatus’ angelic voice goaded her on. ‘I am a Nosferatu, of a more human variety. I am what you would call a “traditional” vampire.’ He gestured to the female. ‘Lady Nisshoku is a Harionago. They are vampires from Japan. Never smile back if they smile at you, especially if you are a man.’

She had to ask. ‘Why not?’ Trassia watched eagerly for the fruit of knowledge to grow. Nisshoku merely smiled. The bait wasn’t taken.

‘Lastly, Amon here is an Obayifo, from Africa. Completely hunger-driven, but loyal, and strong. They are more akin to what you would call possessed humans. Nevertheless, he is a vampire, and kindred in our common goals. Our school- nay, _our society,_ is much more tolerant of many kinds of people. We do not restrict ourselves like your species does.’ Corvatus brushed a lock of hair off of his flawless visage.

Following along every street and corridor, hours passed like minutes. One final time heralded the end when Nisshoku raised her sphere and sucked the errant souls from the mortal vessels they inhabited.

By now the sun threatened to rise upon the city. The three vampires exchanged a glance. Corvatus nodded and tapped his pendant. A hand waved through the air, left to right, creating an old, gothic door, just like the one outside Sudden Confusion.

‘The sun is almost up. My friends here may linger in the light as they please, but my kind are no ally to the day. We must go, now.’ Corvatus gave a theatrical bow. Long, beautiful hair draped across him, before he flicked it back.

It was morning already? Trassia glanced around in bewilderment. So it was. It had been nearly ten o’clock at night nearly half an hour ago. ‘Oh, okay,’ she began awkwardly. ‘Um, well, thank you for letting us follow you around all night, and thank you for saving our city. I’m- I’m really grateful for your help.’

His smile lit up the dark dawn. ‘The pleasure was mine, miss Trassia Barnes. I feel certain that in time, we will meet again. _This I know._ ’ His palm opened expectantly.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t instinct. A prompt pushed its way into her brain. The urge to extend her hand egged and pushed at her neurons, begging and goading until she gave in. A toothy smile rewarded her courage, as he took hers with long-nailed fingers, and raised it up to his lips.

Static exploded into every nerve like fireworks. Purple eyes fixed her in place, until he let go. Trassia pursed her lips before they defied her, consulting into a giddy schoolgirl smile.

‘Until then, Trassia.’ Dramatic timing was right on cue. Corvatus entered the door after his friends, just as the rays of the new day crested over the magical high-rises and towers. He was gone, and so was the door, in the blink of an eye.

‘Wow,’ Trassia muttered, stunned. All of that actually happened.

A swift kick in her shin brought the real world back into focus. ‘You complete idiot!’, snapped Vanessa. ‘You’re a moron, you know that! Ugh, so, _so_ stupid!’

Trassia shrugged at this. ‘How? I- we watched him and made sure they didn’t get into trouble, like he said. Someone had to.’

A finger poked her forehead. Vanessa pushed, hard. ‘He played you like a violin.’

She shook her head. ‘No, not at all. I kept my distance.’

‘You smiled at all his comments and stared at him all night like you wanted to mount him! Look at you, you’re blushing!’

Was she? Trassia touched a hand to her hot cheek. ‘Oh, uh, that was because this was so exciting.’

‘Moron!’ Vanessa started walking home. There was no compassion in her tirade anymore. ‘You almost let him take you through the portal back to his world!’

A little laugh slipped loose. ‘Would that have been so bad?’

Vanessa showed no mercy this time. A full-on slap pounded into the side of Trassia’s skull, Half a hand clipped her temple and eardrum, leaving everything ringing. The pain surged through to the bone. Even her eye hurt.

‘I swear, you’d be dead right now if I didn’t keep an eye on you!,’ shouted Vanessa, unabashedly hollering through the street.

‘That really hurt!’ Trassia’s wand hand clutched her poor face. No sound was coming out of her left ear. I thought Corvatus was nice. He seemed friendly.’

‘You seemed horny!’ That was almost funny. The faint beginnings of a laugh worked their way up and out until Vanessa wound up for another swing. ‘You don’t _ever_ go into Dark London unless you’re properly prepared, alright!?’ Concern shone through the rage. Somewhere in her demand was a sliver of pleading.

Had she been played? Trassia gave an earnest shrug. ‘I- I didn’t know that he was manipulating me.’

Like an angry bull, the brunette let off an irate snort. ‘You’re gonna die fast here if you don’t learn up. If the minister approved for vampires to actually come and roam the streets unchecked, it must have been a seriously dire situation.’ Vanessa swept back loose hair from her face and wiped the sweat forming on her brow. ‘This was all caused by Rufus Mooney, right?’

This they could at last agree on. ‘Yeah,’ said Trassia, nodding. He was floating in that circle of light and when a spell hit him, the lightning kind of exploded and it started raining those sparkles. Harry Potter was there, he’s a witness.

Open hands shushed Trassia. Vanessa’s eyes scanned back and forth at invisible thoughts as she mentally organised herself. ‘So this is serious. This isn’t a joke or a game. The vampires said those lights were fragments of the restless dead. If you say this is coming from Rufus, then he may be filled with death energy. He’s a threat and a menace.’

So far what she said made some sense. Rufus never seemed wholly stable in school. ‘He has that tattoo, on- on his arm,’ Trassia added. ‘The Candler mark. It has a burning flame on it, so maybe that’s the source- if we’re even right about this.’

Vanessa nodded at that. ‘Yeah, it’s all a guess.’ Then she sighed. ‘Right now I’m tired, sore, and hungry. I want to eat and go to bed. Look, we’ll sort this out in the morning, okay?’ Eyes locked on eyes. ‘If you want to help, steal your laptop back from Kandé when he’s done with it and look up everything you can on the Candlers. If this gets serious, I need to know if we’ll have to skip town.’

Would it get that bad? What in the world had she just walked into?

There came a tap on the shoulder. ‘Come on,’ said Vanessa. ‘You can make your dumbass Korean breakfast and I can get some sleep in before school.

Again, half of her home culture got dissed. ‘Hey!’ Trassia sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll make curry.’

Slowly as the dawn’s new light, people began to wake up in the streets. A fresh day was at hand.


	7. The Foreground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the chaos of the night before, Trassia gets up and heads out to survey the aftermath of events. Unfortunately, she gets a little distracted.

Outside of the apartment, the world went on as normal. In one night the entire city had fallen into the clutches of chaos and been snatched back again. If reality had noticed, it was only to blink. Trassia woke up to the sound of an alarm, and the phone was smacked back into silent obedience. It was ten in the morning. All night and morning awake were far from compensated by only a few hours in bed.

There was a lot to make up for. The girl rolled out of bed in her street clothes, blankets untouched, and landed on the floor. Hands and feet caught her. It was time to start again. New body, same old rules; last night was a wake-up call. Trassia started with pushups. Fifty was enough. Weak muscles strained to accomplish even that. Her back didn’t thank her either for the situps. Burning in her lower spine refused to fade for twenty minutes.

Sweaty clothes were stripped off and traded for clean ones. Today wasn’t a work day, so there were no real restrictions on wardrobe choices. The black leather jacket and boots were back with a vengeance, over tight blue jeans and a grey T-shirt. If was clean, that was what mattered.

Now it was time for breakfast. Lazy feet dragged along out of her private sanctum and into the living room. She wandered over to the kitchen outlet and began fishing around for whatever.

‘Hey,’ said a voice. It took maybe ten seconds to actually turn around and look. Vanessa hovered close behind. ‘Good morning,’ said the woman. She’d once more draped her hair across her facial blemish.

‘Hey,’ Trassia replied. ‘I’ll get started on breakfast in a second.’

The roommate shook her head. ‘No need, I did it already. There should be some toast and eggs in the oven for you.’

At least that amenity still worked in both worlds. Trassia pulled the door open, letting a blast of hot air escape directly into her face. A little bundle of tinfoil sat ready and waiting for her. First-thing-in-the-morning logic said it was fine to grab it with her bare hands and toss it back and forth, palm to palm, before setting it down on the counter. She also turned the stove off.

‘Thanks,’ said the girl. Plates required more effort. Trassia ate out of the tinfoil. ‘How are you?’

Vanessa rocked thoughtfully on her heels. ‘Good, better now. How about you?’

That required thought. This was too early for assessments. ‘Eh, I guess.’ Trassia kept eating. ‘Thanks for the food.’

‘Thanks for saving me,’ countered Vanessa. ‘I would have been dead or possessed if you hadn’t pulled me to safety.’

Shoulders lifted into what could broadly be translated as a shrug. ‘It was the right thing to do. We both would have been in trouble if you hadn’t told me to avoid them. Plus you protected me from the vampires.’

‘Yeah, I did.’ Vanessa took out a mug from the cupboard and poured out a cup of tea. ‘Here.’

It was gratefully accepted.

‘We should just be lucky the muggle world is completely separate from ours these days. If last night’s fiasco had reached the muggles, this would have been an international incident.’ Vanessa leaned on the counter with her hip and crossed her arms.

This was news. ‘Weren’t they always divided?’

A minute passed as Vanessa stared dead-on at the sleepy listener, cold as ice. ‘How did you graduate?’

Trassia sighed. ‘I try to block out a lot of my school memories. I got bullied a lot.’

With a roll of her eyes, Vanessa waived this. ‘Back before the second wizarding war when Voldemort tried to conquer the country, Magical London was just scattered streets and buildings hidden around Muggle London. You’d have to leave the magical world and walk through muggle streets in order to get home and such. This was axed when muggle technology got advanced enough that people started to notice all the owls and people in robes walking around. This really came to a head when a wizard tried to rob a muggle bank and got caught. Nobody noticed him because of the Innoculum charm around him, but the security cameras watched him literally walk in and out of the bank with armloads of money.’ She looked the teen over again. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of the Doulton Robbery?’

Trassia calmly sipped her tea. ‘Probably at some point.’

Vanessa let out an irritable sigh. ‘So anyway, yeah when Granger took over she started the whole divide to stop the chaos. It’s smart if you ask me. Real Ravenclaw logic there.’

How nice it was that Hermione Granger, one of the holy trinity of heroes, now had a name with the word “bloody” affixed in the middle. Good for her, then, to have solved all the problems in the universe except for one. Trassia bottled it all up.

‘Anyway,’ said the one with crimson streaks in her hair, ‘I guess I should figure out what to do with the rest of my day.’

‘How about applying to a college or university?’, offered Vanessa.

_How about no._ With a shake of her head, morning hair went everywhere. ‘No, thanks. I’m not really excited about going back to school.’ It would especially be sticky when they would try to check her life history and school records. Even giving in and going as a trans individual meant having to have an escort to the men’s washroom every single time, as well as a permanent probationary charge, with several elective courses being forbidden to her. She would be branded as “Travis Noble, the man in women’s clothing”.

Apparently changers weren’t so welcome, if that was a real thing. There was a good chance she’d be arrested. It was a life of flipping burgers or stocking shelves ahead, for a long time. On the bright side, at least there was money coming in now, at some point. Ron seemed interested in seeing her return to the joke shop for another trial day at some unspecified point in the near future.

On that matter, it brought another good point up. ‘So am I the only one who thinks it’s stupid that if you forget how to get into the wizarding world, you’re just locked out forever?’

Again, Vanessa just stared, harder and longer than ever. ‘Oh my god.’ Her head fell into her hands. ‘You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.’

Trassia shrugged. ‘What am I missing?’

The brunette sighed. ‘You can raise your hand like you’re hitchhiking to call the Knight Bus or the Distress Express. They’re magic buses that bring you anywhere you want. It’s super-common and you can literally call it by accident. How _don’t_ you know?’

As if feeling stupid wasn’t enough, now Trassia had to feel humiliated and awkward. ‘Those still run?’

‘Yes,’ Vanessa snapped at her. ‘Of course they do!’

‘They’ve never shown up for me, ever. I used to try when I first heard about them and it never worked.’ Being around muggles all summer break and in school all the rest of the year left little chance to see them in effect with other witches and wizards, either.

Like a disappointed mother, Vanessa crossed her arms and tossed her gaze away theatrically. ‘You really are a muggly. Just hold out your thumb and one of them will show up to pick you up.’

‘I’ve tried that,’ Trassia repeated. ‘They never show up for me.’

Vanessa had the gall to laugh. ‘Well, I guess you’re screwed, then. What’d you do to get blacklisted?’

‘Nothing,’ assured Trassia.

The roommate gave her brainbox a shake. ‘I doubt that.’

Only so much ridicule could be taken in one day. This morning’s quota had already been met. With breakfast conquered, the time was nigh to get out and be anywhere else in the world. Trassia backed away and gave a broad stretch. ‘I should get going.’

The frivolities had now ceased. Vanessa wandered off back to the empty couch. There was no Kandé today. Perhaps there were no exams. The laptop sat on its new home on the coffee table, still sticky and disgusting from yesterday’s breakfast. It could stay there. If either of the two other residents wanted to desecrate the poor thing any further, it was their prerogative. Vanessa could look up her own information if she wanted to know more about Rufus The Doofus.

Today felt like a quiet day. Whether or not London agreed was a different story. Trassia set forth out of the apartment and out into the street. A right turn would lead back to Night London. Unfortunately, curiosity couldn’t compete with the driving force of rules. It wasn’t safe to go there. Mentally re-naming her own street as Murder Lane felt oddly fitting, now.

Left it was, away from the brooding darkness and the vampires. Diagon Alley called her name, out into the fray of modern hustle and bustle. Today was just as busy as any other. Curiosity wasn’t defeated yet, as it steered her feet toward the joke shop.

The overhead bell jingled. Joyously jolly music played from unseen sources inside the Weasley’s shop. Customers had already packed the aisles, looking for new and inventive ways to cause domestic chaos. There never really seemed to be a slow day.

A slight breath of relief sighed itself out when the redhead failed to appear. Trassia shook the weight from her shoulders and wandered in to look around. Today it was nice, actually fun. George’s brilliant sales chatter filled the merry chambers with the sound of laughter and awe. It was hard not to follow into the pull of its gravity.

One boy jumped back in horrified amusement as George and his animated twin co-sold the child a Boggy Box, finishing each other’s sentences with Weasley panache. Whatever was seen inside the little matchbox forced a scream out of the boy. It stopped when George closed it. Then he opened it, and closed it, and opened it, and closed it, over and over. Even after he handed it over to the young customer, he and his friends kept shrieking and and off at its contents. Trassia laughed as they laughed.

A child holding a Loopy Lighter was in for a shock when she discovered that all the faces of her pimply peers had turned into those of monsters. Nobody else saw anything strange, except for the user. Trassia smirked. It had been a long time since one of those had been in her own possession. At George’s request, it had “mysteriously” found its way into the hands of the only cigar-smoking professor at Hogwarts. That had been a fun day. The man had never stopped using it after that, curiously enough.

Trassia didn’t need to be Travis here. She never had been, really.

The owner had been busy upstairs when a passing customer and her friends had gathered around the Snapshell Earrings. Those things needed a proper demo before anyone bought them, they could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Trassia sighed and wandered over.

‘Don’t get your ears bitten off,’ chided Trassia playfully.

The group of goggle-eyed preteen girls turned to gawk at the adult. ‘What do you mean?’, asked the leader of the pack.

Trassia picked out one of the little clamshell-shaped earrings, this one particularly shaped like a spiral-point shell. Pretty jewels made it shimmer like expensive treasure. This was going to hurt. A fake smile covered up the dread as she loosened the golden clasp and clipped it onto her earlobe.

There came the pain. A hundred little sharp, stabbing teeth sank into her flesh like a nipping kitten. So it didn’t really hurt all that much. It was just a little pinch. Trassia still played it up, flinching as if a nail had been run through her head. One eye shut in faux-pain. A few of the little girls giggled.

‘Get it off, please,’ requested Trassia. She leaned down to the children. ‘Pinch the sides of the clasp.’ One of them did as told, then immediately put it onto her friend’s ear. A sale had silently been made. That actually felt pretty good.

There came that buzzing feeling from behind again. Trassia turned around to find the smirking countenance of one Mr. Weasley. Today his missing ear had been replaced by a prismatic butterfly, gently flapping its wings back and forth.

‘I can’t pay you if you’re not on shift,’ he warned, voice full of teasing.

Trassia suppressed a giggle. ‘Hi- hi, Mr. Weasley. I just wanted to check in and, I guess, kind of apologise- I think I hurt my coworker’s feelings. I- I was kind of rude.’

The funny fellow raised an amused eyebrow, his smile still lingering. ‘Whatever you did, keep doing it.’

She shrugged at this. ‘What do you mean?’

George looked to his animated twin over in the painting over the staff room. Fred shrugged, then so did George. ‘You’ll see. Say hello to Travis for me.’ He began to wander off, but turned back after a few steps. ‘Are you free next Monday for another shift?’

They wanted her back? ‘Uh, yeah, of course!’ She did her best not to sound completely excited. She failed.

‘Good,’ replied George, not at all put off by her fervour. ‘See you later- and feel free to keep pushing the merchandise.’

Trassia nodded like a goofy fool, even after George had wandered off. Maybe today would be alright. There were people everywhere that looked like they were enjoying themselves. It was hard not to laugh when a young man put on a fake moustache and suddenly grew an entire beard. This place was too fun not to feel better.

The teen picked up a package of voice-mimicking Squabblers and turned it over. These seemed nice and annoying, they would be fun for a distraction. There was so much here that looked useful. She put them back down when another figure snuck up on her. That tingle gave it away.

‘You like those? You’d love Chatterbacks,’ chirped a Welsh voice.

_Oh no._ Trassia slowly turned around.

Long red locks and broad shoulders made sure it was nobody but Ashe. Realisation was slow to hit. ‘They sit on your shoulder and repeat everything a person sa- oh, uh… it’s you.’ Her carefree demeanour wilted. The formerly merry girl crossed her arms defensively.

A pang of dread welled up deep inside. Being anywhere but here would have felt better. ‘Hi,’ Trassia rebounded.

Ashe paused and glanced around. ‘So how are you?’

The dark-haired one nodded. ‘Okay, I guess. I hear last night got really weird for everyone. There were explosions and stuff, I guess.’

Red hair shook when Ashe nodded back. ‘Yeah. I wouldn’t know, I was busy.’

‘Okay.’ She really didn’t know the woman well enough to ask about that. ‘How’s work?’ It seemed a safe enough topic.

Ashe nodded once again. ‘Good, yeah. It’s fine here.’ Examining eyes watched Trassia desperately for… something. She didn’t find it. The woman shifted uncomfortably before talking again. ‘I didn’t drink today, see?’ With all the wonderful invasion of privacy and smell of cinnamon toast that came with it, Ashe deemed it necessary to lean in and breathe all over Trassia’s face.

‘Uh, good-’

‘And look, see? Clean clothes.’ Ashe plucked at a light blue sweatshirt and a pair of clean dress pants under her purple apron. With equal enthusiasm to her last attempt, the coworker rushed in and mashed her shoulder into Trassia’s face. ‘No smell, right? I’m good?’

The slight hint of lavender and soap could be picked out. ‘You’re fine.’ Trassia slipped free and took a step back.

‘I’m not disgusting today,’ Ashe asserted, locking her gaze. ‘Okay?’

A heavy sigh rolled out. ‘I didn’t mean to say you are, I’m sorry.’ Trassia held herself protectively around the waist. ‘I know it was ride of me and I-’

Ashe held up a hand of silence. ‘No, it’s fine.’ She sighed.

This was awkward. Both of them stood about sheepishly in the middle of the busy shop, at least until a firecracker exploded behind Ashe, making her jump with shock. Over across the room, George and Fred laughed maniacally.

‘Where’s the smiles!?’, the twins teased.

Number one coworker shook her lead with a faux-beleaguered breath of woe. ‘So Tracey, are you working again soon?’

It was close to the correct pronunciation, in an oblique way. ‘My name is Trassia, sorry,’ the round-faced girl replied. ‘I work next Monday. Will you be there then?’

A pained grimace of pure guilt overcame Ashe’s pretty face. ‘Oops. Trassia. I’ll get it right.’

Trassia shrugged, ‘It’s fine, my dad has trouble with that too.’

This went ignored. ‘Yeah,’ said Ashe. ‘I’ll be supervising you again.’ She smiled. ‘Trassia. I’ll remember next time.’

‘Thank you.’ Biological instinct warned her of the internal timer nearing its end in her head. By now she’d likely worn out her welcome. Standing around and doing nothing in a store was never a good plan, it only got people thrown out. ‘I should go.’

Ashe’s hand shot out and snared her arm. ‘What, already?’

‘Yeah, busy day,’ stated Trassia. ‘I just checked in to make sure you were okay- the shop was okay. Not burned down or anything. I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘What have you got planned?’ Ashe had to push.

That was a good question. Literally the first anything that managed to tumble over the mental dam in her head was the sentence she chose to reply with. ‘I have to go look into the thing.’ _The thing? What was this mystical thing?_ ‘The- last night. There was stuff. Words. Um, there was, you know, the explosions or something.’ _Or something?_ ‘I wanted to find out what happened in case I should probably go back home. Mom and dad. I mean if it’s not safe.’ Her talking was not safe.

The next reaction was surprising. There was no angry sigh or ridicule. Ashe only laughed at this. ‘No wonder George hired you, you’re hilarious.’

Trassia hesitantly giggled. ‘Is that a good thing?’

The redhead lifted a lofty finger and poked the girl’s nose. ‘Absolutely,’ said she. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you mess up on the job.’

There had to have been better ways to phrase that. ‘Uh, thanks’ was all Trassia could manage. It was time to go. ‘See you on Monday.’ Trassia waved herself free of the death grip and hustled out the door. She finally breathed once she was around the corner and out of sight. That girl, Ashe, she was something else. Monday was going to be eventful.

This required tea, and a quiet place. Twenty minutes or so later, Trassia had let her feet lead her back to Tendril Lane. She strode up to the little brown fairy tale cottage and opened the door.

Immediately incense met her nose. Today’s scent was something that smelled like the sea. Trassia took a seat at the back-left table and decompressed. The sounds of ocean waves crashing on the beach mingled with flute music played from somewhere without a tangible source. The theme carried on into the visual as well, with all the pretty star decorations and astral signs now replaced by sea creature mobiles and dried starfish stuck on the walls. Candles on the tables were held in place by mounted conch shells. The walls had even changed from plain wood to living ocean beaches, complete with seagulls, a rising and falling tide, and old pirate ships in the background.

The owner swanned out flamboyantly from behind a beaded curtain. Trassia managed to suppress a giggle. An ocean blue sundress turned foamy white as it dropped below her shapely hips, just the sea. Shoulder straps had been made in the shape of jellyfish tentacles, complete with a decorative jellyfish motif on the back when she gave a flourish and twirl. The sun shone in the painted sky, but failed to match up as Constance smiled. Now there was beauty.

‘Hello, my dear,’ said the woman theatrically. ‘It’s good to see you again, Trassia. How have you been?’

It didn’t matter. All of this had been silly when she walked in, but now it all came together. This place was stunning. Trassia gawked in awe, jaw agape, even at Constance. ‘This is incredible. How did you do this?’

Constance pulled out her wand and gave it a little wave.

Not a word needed to be said. The girl nodded. For the first time, Trassia took notice of it- the wand. The shaft started broad and ringed in her hand, a soft brown, then extended out in a loose corkscrew, branching off at the tip. Everyone had such a neat tool.

She had to ask. ‘What kind of wand is that?’

The cocoa-skinned woman didn’t stop smiling. ‘Arbutus. Exalted Porputia feather core.’ By the look of it, it was about fifteen inches.

‘It’s really neat,’ replied Trassia with unmitigated honesty. ‘But what’s an Exalted Porputia?’

Constance reached out with her wand. ‘Projectere Mentus.’ Suddenly the walls showed new life swimming in the ocean. Winged dolphins breached the waters and played near the beach.

‘Oh, those. I never knew. I saw those with my family the night I left for London.’

Constance sat down across from the young woman. ‘Is that so? Then you’ve been blessed with good luck. They’re incredibly rare to be seen near the shore. Sailors regard them as a sign of good fortune and safe travel.’

Nothing felt special or safe so far. The whole of london was a tightrope over a field of landmines. ‘I hope so,’ sighed Trassia.

An elegant wave of her head back and forth cleared the hair from Constance’s face. She rested her chin gently on her curled fingers, elbow on the wooden table. ‘You seem troubled.’ Brown irises watched Trassia intently.

Teeth raked a lip in distress. ‘Well, I- yeah.’ She just met this woman less than a week ago, and now she was about to complain to her. ‘I guess I’m scared, and confused. I just moved here and nothing’s like I expected. I was looking for a new beginning but everything’s so forbidding.’ _So be it._ This was happening. ‘I guess I feel lost. I mean, the city was attacked last night and everything seems totally fine now. Nobody even seems to notice or care that everyone got possessed or that vampires were roaming the streets.’

‘So that’s what happened,’ muttered the hostess, drinking it all in.

Trassia gave an approving nod. ‘Yeah, Rufus Mooney was there. My roommate and I went out to see what all the lights and noise were and there was a fight. I don’t know what happened, really, but it was just so weird.’

The woman dreamily nodded and listened until Trassia stopped talking. ‘This makes you want to leave London?’

A shrug felt like the adequate response to this query. ‘I don’t feel so welcome here, or safe.’

‘Where do you feel safe?’, asked Constance politely.

It took about an eighth of a second to retrieve the answer for that from her mind, but three seconds were lost in the translation into reality. ‘Home, with my mom and dad.’

Constance nodded. ‘A wise choice. I always miss my parents.’ Probing sight pried deeper than words could express. ‘So why did you leave them to come here?’

Such a hard question required a harder answer. ‘I… couldn’t live a full life there. I couldn’t practice magic, or make friends, or- or have- do anything for myself. I was trapped there. I mean, I miss them, but I need… more.’

Again did the shopkeeper smile. ‘Growing up is always scary, my dear. Spreading your wings and leaving the nest never really stops being scary. You’re always going to be a little girl pretending to be an adult. Take it from me, I know.’ Constance laughed heartily. ‘But you’re strong. If you can realise that all on your own and make it come true, then you can do anything. I know that just looking at you. You’re still here after last night.’

_Yeah, and considering taking the next train home._ ‘I guess.’

Bracelet-laden hands and wrists thumped the table decidedly. ‘Would you like something to eat or drink, dear?’

Trassia lifted and dropped her head in the affirmative. ‘Yes, please. I’ve already had breakfast, but the tea here is really nice.’

Constance rose like a kite. ‘Same as last time? I can make a fresh pot.’

That sounded like a lot of work. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want to make you go through any trouble. Something else is fine- I mean, I love it, I just, I would feel bad.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, dear,’ insisted Constance, dashing off behind the counter, but stopping at the ocean-themed bead curtain. ‘Although I do have a house special if you’d like to try it, to go along with this new theme.’ She waved a hand toward the room.

‘Sure- yes please. I’d like that.’

She was back in under a minute, floating two cups over to the table. A stained glass body bore matching colours, decorated with patches and tones that formed a whale along the side of the vessel. The tea too, was not without a suiting oceanic theme. Steam rose from the dregs of the sapphire blue water.

Constance read her mind before she could ask. ‘It’s butterfly pea flower tea. It’s a powerful antioxidant that helps combat stress and aging. Like the mother ocean, we must all grow strong and vast enough to be forgiving and deep.’ The hostess took a long draw from her cup. ‘This blend was brewed in a clay teapot, so as not to diminish its natural healing properties. It’s also caffeine-free, so it makes a nice bedtime drink.’

The first sip was the test. It wasn’t ocean-y at all. This was more earthy and natural, kind of woody, actually. This was more like the taste of the boat pulled up on a dirt shore than the sea itself. It wasn’t bad after a while, just different. It took some getting used to.

A few sweet moments of seashore silence washed over the sleepy little cottage. Calm took hold like a soft embrace. Magic didn’t need wands or spells to turn a few minutes into half an hour.

The first ripple in the water was the word of Constance. She drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table. ‘So last night was an adventure for you, you said?’

It took a moment for Trassia to snap out of her reflective trance. ‘Yeah. I was lucky. Vanessa told me to keep away from all the little balls of light raining over the city, and thank goodness, because anyone that touched them got possessed by lingering sentiments from the deceased. That’s what the vampires told me, anyway.’

The smile on Constance’s face dropped away. ‘ _Ah yes, vampires._ ’ A sour tone matched a sour puss.

‘What?’, asked Trassia, catching the change. ‘You don’t like vampires?’

This apparently required more tea. Constance summoned over the teapot and left it on the table, pouring each of them another cup. After that her fingers bridged together. ‘Let’s say I don’t see eye to eye with them. I don’t want to bore you with the details, but just be careful. Don’t trust a vampire. They’re not human like us.’

Corvatus had seemed nice, beneath all the macabre demeanour. ‘I don’t mind listening.’ Trassia angled her words, goading for a little more.

A little reluctance crossed her aura when Constance pursed her lips and hummed to herself. ‘They killed a very close friend of mine.’ Earthen eyes searched for a sign of relent in her listener. They found none. Constance adjusted her glasses and continued. ‘We went to school together. Her name was Laoise Kheldar. She was a very bright and sunny girl, we got along like pancakes and syrup. She was part of my witching coven we formed during school. We were like sisters. We even agreed to be maids of honour at each other’s weddings. Anyway, after we graduated we stayed close and did everything together. Kayaking, mountain climbing, we even went and visited Buddhist temples.’ Constance let out a laugh. ‘She shaved her head and the next day we went skinny dipping by the light of the full moon and meditated under a waterfall. It was so much fun- but so cold and so very loud, don’t ever try it. If you do, make it a little one like we did.’ Her smile returned for a savoury moment held within. ‘We swam with the turtles in the Galapagos. It was a fun vacation. We’d just graduated and wanted to go see the world. We thought we knew everything.’

In less than a second Constance sobered up. ‘When we got back, I wanted to settle down for a bit, so I tried my hand at a bunch of artsy jobs, painting, writing, drawing, tarot, reiki, you know. She still had wanderlust in her heart. She wanted to go right back out there. She begged me to come along with her again but I wasn’t feeling it. I’d had my wild ride for one year. So… she went alone. I got an owl from her a month later saying she was out of money and looking for a place to stay. There was no return address.’ The hostess took a quiet breath. ‘Four months later, her body was found behind a dumpster over in Durness, in Scotland. Her parents were notified and I went with them to go see for myself. The muggle police said it had been a suicide. Overdose.’

Tears reddened her eyes. This time she had to take a moment to compose herself. ‘She never touched drugs. That was my thing, not hers. She always kept a clear head and looked out for danger. I was the reckless one. The wizard police said she’d been… _assaulted_ some time earlier. There were traces found on her. She’d also had her memory wiped with a spell, they determined that. So someone did something to her and erased her memory of it.’ Long fingernails carved lines into the wooden table.

‘When she was found, her wand was missing and her magic had been taken. She’d been drained dry. The last reports of her still alive were from witnesses saying they saw her stumbling through the streets completely dehydrated and begging for help. Laoise said she’d met a man running a community farm that offered her a place to stay in exchange for work. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol went to check this alleged farm out but found nothing. There was no man, and no farm. But she was clever. There were words she’d carved into her ankle with a nail so she could remember. She was so clever.’ It was too much. Constance had to hold a hand to her mouth. A long sigh came out through her nose. The faucet had been left on, the tears wouldn’t stop. ‘I still remember her face.’ She didn’t see the present anymore in that empty stare.

‘The autopsy found partially-masked wounds on her chest. Muggles said it looked like she’d been stabbed with a spiked bracelet or nails. Magical investigators said they were concealed bite marks. There’s only one creature in this part of the world that bites its victims over the heart and drains out their magic. That’s a vampire,’ snarled Constance. Her calm was gone. ‘Specifically a kerebaum- a male magic vampire. A female is called a halang. They bite the heart in order to drain your life _and_ your magic. They’re not born with either, so they steal it. They kill their own mother while they’re still in the womb by stealing her life force.’ Eyes full of fury commanded caution into the teen. ‘Kerebaums hate water, they can’t touch it, and she was dehydrated near to death when she escaped.’

Constance took a sip of tea at last. ‘It was a vampire that murdered my best friend. I know I should practice universal peace and harmony, but they’re the opposite. Vampires only hurt people. I’m appalled that the minister would give them an entire section of the city to lurk in. It will only end in calamity, I know it. _I feel it._ ’

There was nothing to say to that. This was the second warning in under twelve hours that she’d received to avoid the species. Trassia sat quietly and listened like a microphone. When the woman had calmed down, the girl still sat and waited, for nothing really. The crashing of the waves mingled with the ringing of bowl music. Constance retreated into herself and closed her eyes.

The next twenty minutes were taken up by silent meditation. The shopkeeper rocked gently side to side with each long breath, in and out, left to right and back again, like a human pendulum. When she finally opened her eyes, she awoke.

The tea was cold. Constance sipped at it anyway. ‘I’m so sorry about that, dear. I just had to nip off for a while and project myself into the astral plane to realign my cosmic harmony. I was terribly out of balance. It’s a technique my mother taught me. Astral projection can be fairly dangerous if you’re untrained, but if you know how to anchor yourself correctly and avoid the threats, it’s absolutely beautiful. I’d describe it to you if I only could.’ There was her smile, back once more, if only a weak one. ‘Some things go beyond the realm of perception.’

It was good to see it back on her. It fit well. For the first time today Trassia noticed the bright teal sea anemone undulating in her hair like a decorative flower. It surely had to be an enchanted facsimile and not the real deal. It was a nice touch, though. That was worth smiling back for.

Constance extended a hand and palmed Trassia’s own. ‘Please don’t let this disrupt your day, my dear. I’m sorry for that little outburst.’

Trassia had to defy. ‘No, no,’ she insisted, shaking her head vigorously. ‘You didn’t. I’m sorry I upset you, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.’

The woman merely held up a hand. ‘Let’s not talk about this. What are your aspirations, dear? What do you find yourself doing when you look deep down inside your soul?’

There was no filter in place. It had fallen off and gotten lost under a bookshelf somewhere. ‘I don’t really know,’ Trassia answered candidly with a shrug. ‘I spent all of my life being treated like I’m a freak, like I can never be accepted for who I am. I guess as long as I can find a place to be me, I really don’t care what I’m doing. I guess that’s weird.’

Constance shook her head. ‘You’ve been persecuted for a long time, then.’

Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’

More tea was poured. ‘Have you thought about travelling?’, asked Constance thoughtfully.

It was accepted gratefully. ‘Now and then I guess, but not as much after what you just told me,’ said the one with black and crimson locks.

‘No no, don’t ever let that stop you. Being afraid didn’t prevent you coming to London, did it? You still have to live your life, or else it goes to waste.’ This strange lady made sense.

Life was hard. Everything was a contradiction, or came at a steep cost. The urge to curl up and rest her face on the table got harder to resist by the minute. ‘I just want to stay here all day and not go anywhere.’ The temptation won over. Her forehead tapped the wood.

Constance laughed at that. ‘You’re welcome to come here whenever you like, dear. It’s not exactly like I’m overwhelmed with customers. It’s nice to have some company.’

The girl lifted her head off of the table for that. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I forgot about the Korean tea stuff. I had work, and I was trying to-’

Constance waved it off. ‘Stop apologising, you’re fine. It’s alright, really. Another time.’

‘Thank you,’ said Trassia, ‘and sorry,’

Glasses glinted in the fake sun as the woman laughed. ‘Oh my goodness, you’re a piece of work.’ Constance sipped her blue tea and simultaneously waved her wand at the counter. The sounds of the shore evolved into Caribbean-themed cheerful music. ‘So on another note, now I’m curious. What in all did you see last night? My spirit guides told me it was a bad time to go outside, so I stayed in and meditated.’

The amount of time it took to mentally compose the right words so nothing got jumbled up was shamefully long. ‘Okay, so we heard a loud explosion in our apartment. Did you hear it too?’

‘Yes,’ said Constance with a nod. ‘It broke my concentration.’

Trassia carried on with her recounting. ‘So we went outside to check out the source of the noise and there was all this white glowing stuff falling from the sky like snow. It turns out that- no, I’ll get to that. So Vanessa took me through the- no, we took a shortcut I didn’t know and we got lost. Well, I got lost. So we kind of made our way to a street called Turncoat Way, just by Lockhart Plaza, if you know where that is.’

‘I know that place very well,’ confirmed Constance. ‘Please continue.’

‘So we got there and we saw this glowing white sphere and Rufus was floating in it like, like I don’t know what like. There was a woman duelling Harry Potter in the light, and her spell bounced off and hit Rufus. Oh yeah, everyone was gathered around, watching. Like, everyone in the streets.’

‘Of course.’

‘So her spell- the woman’s spell, it bounced around in there because I guess she missed, and it hit Rufus. There was another explosion and lightning arced up into the sky and split it open, the sky, I mean. So then more lights came down and we ran for cover. Well, I dragged Vanessa because she got knocked out. Then I guess Harry Potter got knocked down and the woman was about to kill him, but another man apparated in and deflected the attack and killed an animal I think he used as a shield. Then he somehow fixed Rufus and the woman left. Then the barrier came down and Harry Potter’s allies came out of hiding and attacked the other man before he could do something to Harry.’

All recounting ended there. Constance leaned forward. ‘This man, what did he look like?’

Now she had to recall other information and put it into words, this was not fun. ‘Um, he had long brown hair and wore black clothes. He- I didn’t really see his face, but he had a sort of shaved beard.’

‘Mhm,’ uttered Constance, urging Trassia on. ‘What was he doing, specifically?’

‘He knelt over Harry Potter and was pointing his wand at him. That was when everyone started attacking the guy.’

She’d heard enough. The hostess rose from her seat and strode quietly over to the counter in bare feet. A newspaper was retrieved from behind it, and she wandered back over. ‘Was it this man?’ Constance tossed it down face-up on the table. Someone stared out from the picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

“Black Kandal’s Civilian Army?”

Long brown hair swept majestically down to his shoulders as the animated face in the photo looked around, speaking to an unseen crowd. Pale skin wrapped around a gorgeous male face, with all the features in all the right amounts, complete with an unshaven dusting of scruff on his chin and jaw. Dark eyes had been accented with eyeliner- an unusual choice. They stood out for a mile this way. Unheard words were endlessly spoken to an invisible crowd while he looked back and forth, occasionally staring hard through and out of the paper window, forcing eye contact with everyone in the room.

The rough details of the article talked about his attempts to publicly recruit people to join his side against the ministry. Bits of it went on about the D.M.L.E.’s attempts to locate and bring him to justice. The date on the paper noted it back to three weeks ago. That wasn’t long ago at all. All of this was still ongoing. This wasn’t good.

‘This is the guy,’ Trassia affirmed with a slight nod. ‘He was there.’

A gentle hand plucked the paper from Trassia’s grip and flipped it over to page two. The article continued on, with more pictures. The next one to thrust itself out of anonymity and announce its presence graphically was the burning flame of a black candle tattoo. The same mark glowed on Rufus’ wrist.

‘He was trying to brand Harry with one of these, I’d wager,’ said Constance confidently. ‘That’s the black candle curse. It’s what he named himself after. Whoever gets branded with the mark is doomed to die. It eats away at their soul, until there’s nothing left. You wither and die as the candle burns down to the bottom. It’s a new, illegal variant of the unforgivable killing curse. He and his recruits are mass murderers.’

‘Why would they even do this?’ The logic behind it didn’t even compute. What good was there in killing people?

Constance shook her head, letting wavy brown locks shake softly. ‘What’s stranger is that he’s only targeting wizards and witches. He’s been likened to the anti-Voldemort. You might not know who that is.’

That she actually did. ‘He was a dark wizard that tried to establish a new world order, right? He hated all muggles.’

‘Yes,’ said Constance with a nod. ‘Well, Kandal’s going the opposite way and only attacking witches and wizards. Nobody beyond him and his people know why. He’s dead-set on toppling the ministry, though. He’s spoken out against Hermione Granger several times and asked people to denounce Harry Potter.’

Granger, that was take-it-or-leave-it. Harry Potter was still cool, he wasn’t allowed to die. ‘So wait, why would Black Kandal save Harry- oh, yeah, to brand him, but why? To what, make an example of him?’

A wayward hand cast the notion aside. ‘Nobody knows,’ answered Constance.

Sense no longer applied here. Reality had turned hard on its ear and was now spinning in circles. ‘And they can’t find him?’

Constance shook her head. ‘He’s been spotted all over the country. It’s why so many witches and wizards are moving to the muggle world. Magic doesn’t work there, so they feel safer. Even if it does work, it’s hard to detect a viable target when they live convincingly enough like muggles.’

Realisation bowled Trassia over with unyielding force. ‘So is that why mom and dad live in the muggle world?’ She promptly and rudely interrupted herself. ‘I mean, you can’t answer that, you don’t know them, but… yeah. This is insane. The more I think about this, the more I- I just, no.’ This wasn’t fair. ‘I just want to be me, and now it sounds like we’re on the verge of a third wizarding war.’

There was a lot of head-shaking going on today. Constance reinforced the statistics. ‘Not yet, the prophecy hasn’t come to completion.’

_The what?_ This sounded familiar, but why managed to escape her feeble capacity to recall from the abyss of her lost memories. Trassia stared like a patient with a concussion.

‘I had a vision in my fifth school year while in Professor Trelawney’s divination class. I believe it relates to Rufus Mooney, and Harry Potter. It must have been important, because the ministry came and removed my memory of it. The prophecy is now hidden away somewhere in their clutches.’

‘Should you really be telling me about this?’, questioned Trassia with some due concern.

Her careless shrug set a new tone. ‘For years I’ve talked about this at length with anyone who will listen. There’s no point in hiding now. If Black Kandal wants me, he can come and get me. So far nobody cares. I think most people write me off as a crackpot. I sometimes suspect that I’ve been hamstrung by the ministry for talking too much, and that’s why I never get any customers. But I digress.’

There was likely not a one in the city with any measurable degree of deductive reasoning and intelligent rationale that could have seen any other incoming result. Trassia had to take the bait dancing on the hook in front of her. The question was inevitable. ‘What did you predict?’

Her dear hostess smiled. ‘It was removed from my memory, dear. But it didn’t stop my friend Laoise from writing it down.’ A playful wink goaded the teen onward.

‘May I hear it?’

A satisfied smile crept across Constance’s face. ‘While I don’t condone the nature of the prediction, I’m still rather proud of it. Remember: Don’t shoot the messenger.’ She sat up properly and closed her eyes, reading an invisible script. ‘The Master Of Death will face his usurper, and the child shall reign as king. When the thirteen darknesses are gathered, by his hand may the dark sovereign walk again.’

That definitely sounded ominous. The world had also cruelly tricked her into talking about Rufus Mooney once again. It never ended. Trassia sat back and let it all sink in. ‘So who’s the master of death?’

‘Harry Potter, the boy who lived. According to various sources, he’s survived the killing curse at least twice. I’d say that makes him the master. People he knows call him that.’

‘I read about that somewhere, yeah.’ Reading old magazines on Potter finally came in useful. ‘I see how that all fits together. I mean, a master of death could theoretically be death itself. But I guess this makes more sense.’

Constance shrugged. ‘Either way, that makes him the master of death in the eyes of the public. Rufus has also survived a fatal curse, so that makes him the other master. Now he’s just as famous and he’s stealing Harry Potter’s legacy. He’s a usurper.’

It all started to come together. ‘And the child will reign as king.’ Was this real?

The prophet nodded. ‘Yes. If I’m correct, Rufus Mooney is fated to kill Harry Potter and revive the dark lord Voldemort.’

Silence washed forth like the tide, blanketing the conversation. It drowned all speech. The swimming, winged dolphins played happily and unaware in the backdrop ocean without a care in the world.


	8. Remediation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the pressure of the world and her environment begins to well up so fast and so soon, things reach a boiling point for Trassia.

This darling little snippet of information sloshed about in her brain like water in a fishbowl, around and around. Violent mental waters threatened to overturn the tide of reason. ’So wait,’ demanded Trassia. ‘No, that’s not- doesn’t, ah, it’s not for making sense.’ Neither was that sentence, but it was close enough. ‘Why would he kill Harry Potter? He can’t!’ Potter was too cute to die. This was rubbish. ‘He has a family! And children-’ that weren’t nearly as nice-looking or fun to hear about, but they still came from his stock.

Constance’s shrug alluded to no solutions. ‘I’m sorry, dear. This is what I predicted. I’m only the vessel of conveyance, not the judge of destiny.’

Something was so wrong about all of that. ‘Not all prophecies have to come true, though, do they? I mean, if a person’s fated to destroy the world in fifty years, it can’t stop him from jumping off a bridge tomorrow.’

Stolid eyes merely observed the young woman. ‘Only time will tell. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want it to come true either. All we can hope is that the wording alludes to a different outcome than we anticipate.’

Fate and destiny were stupid concepts. It never made sense. If everything was predetermined, then it invalidated choice and even sentience. Maybe there was something of a sequence of possibilities in a branching nexus of potential outcomes, but that would only mean that several different events were or could be taking place in a simultaneous vacuum of interconnected realities. It was infinitely more likely that there was one world of infinite outcomes and that things like prophecies and magical predictions were just honing in on outcomes that were more likely than others due to unseen tides of happenstance and influences. It didn’t have to mean that they were inexorably bound to come true by manipulating the world into a series of implausible events. Arguing this with Constance didn’t really feel like a good way to spend the day, though.

‘Sorry,’ said Trassia weakly. ‘I- I just, Harry Potter is kind of, I’m a fan.’

The wise woman nodded as a knowing smirk affixed itself to her face. ‘I can tell.’

Implications had been sensed. Nerve impulses reacted accordingly. Trassia brought a knuckled fist up and pressed it against her mouth, not nearly covering the rosy pallor dusting her cheeks. ‘I just mean that he’s the thing and I don’t see the want to him and the yes.’

Constance’s cruel laughter came out as an amused snicker. ‘I understand all too well. I had a crush on someone when I was your age too, dear.’

_Oh please no._ The burning in her face heated up like a bonfire.

The woman just had to continue this train of thought, right off the tracks and over the cliffside. ‘I was fifteen when I first developed an interest in a man named Newt Scamander.’

This was happening.

‘I read about his life and realised what an odd duck he was, and how he didn’t fit in with his surroundings. That was the start. I ended up collecting pictures of him and staring at them late at night in bed.’

Of all the times to do it, now was the worst. Trassia turned morbidly white. She pursed her silent, awkward lips. As soon as she visited her old bedroom back home, there were newspaper clippings on her wall to be burned.

‘I knew he was married at that point,’ droned Constance without mercy, ‘and I wanted all the best for him and his family, but there were times when I imagined I was at school back then and made friends with him. It was fun to imagine growing up beside him and wondering if I’d have made a good wife for him.’

Trassia’s brain was being overturned and its contents emptied out into the conversation before her. This woman had to shut up. All she could do within the social constraints of politeness was cup her hands to her mouth and breathe the filtered air of shame.

It never stopped. The suffering was endless. ‘At one I distinctly remember writing a story about Newt and I going off together on adventures and falling in love. It was silly, but I look back fondly on it. Actually, I think I still have it somewhere. If I can find it, I should show you.’

The old journal in her dresser drawer was now added to the burn list.

Constance blathered onward into new realms of transferable humility. ‘I’m not too proud to admit that I used to practice kissing on one of Newt’s pictures.’

**_Please_ ** _stop talking._

‘I got teased by the other girls in the Gryffindor common room when they found it. I was so embarrassed, but my friends stood up on me. Laoise took all the heat off of me by standing up and boldly announcing that she had a crush on Bellatrix Lestrange, if you know who that is, dear, and that instantly drew all the attention and ridicule over to her. Such a brave soul. She got called a Death Eater wannabe for that.’

Somehow this did help. Trassia uncovered her face. ‘She was one of Voldemort’s lieutenants, right?’ Some vague snippets of her time being humiliated in Defence Against The Dark Arts still lingered in her tattered scholastic memories.

The beachside hostess nodded. ‘Mhm. She was also insane. Mind, I don’t know if this claim was true or if Laoise was just protecting me, but it was very kind of her all the same.’

‘You really miss her,’ observed Trassia audibly.

Constance immediately nodded. ‘She was my best friend and always will be. I like to think that spirit watches over me, when it’s not off exploring the infinite. That’s just like her, you know. She’s probably out there watching new galaxies form and chasing adventures in the spirit realm. I’ve always believed that death is never the end, dear.’ A proud voice declared this with confidence.

‘I’m really sorry-’

A sigh sawed through that apology. ‘Enough! Enough with the sorry!’ Constance couldn’t help but laugh through the frustration. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

That was best, she could agree with that. ‘So okay, I’m still confused. So why would Harry Potter be protecting Rufus Mooney if- does he know? Does Harry Potter know? Do you think he would?’

With a nod of confirmation, Constance shot a checkmark across the topic. ‘He does. He was there when they came to collect it from me. To be honest, I didn’t know what was going on because I’d been in a trance at the time of predicting it but everyone was in a great fuss and Professor Trelawney was so excited. She said then and there that she’d found her replacement for divination class when she retired. I’m not sure if I want to just yet, but we’ll see in time, won’t we? Anyhoo, the ministry was contacted and Harry Potter showed up among other officials to investigate. Since he erased our memories of the event, I can’t say for sure what was said or done, but the professor said he seemed worried and upset, which makes sense.’ Constance leaned back in her chair. ‘If I had someone make a prophecy about my death, I might be a little unsettled too,’ she said with a laugh.

A shrug was what Trassia managed to express. ‘I guess he wants to keep his enemies close, maybe.’

The intrusion of a “one moment” finger cut clean through that mental delineation. ‘I have another theory, my dear, one you might find some value in.’ Constance sat up straight. ‘Harry Potter is a caring man, you likely know that. He’s worked long and hard to bring justice to wizarding London and keep the peace.’ The woman leaned in. ‘I think he believes he can change the prophecy.’

Interest was piqued. ‘How?’ Anything that stopped Harry Potter from getting killed sounded like a good course of action. ‘I mean, he could have killed Rufus Mooney and been done with it, but he hasn’t.’

‘It’s love, my dear,’ Constance whispered. ‘It’s what saved Harry Potter’s life twice. You don’t have to worry about enemies if you make allies out of them. You probably went to school with him, so you’d know better than I do: Rufus Mooney’s lost everything, just like Harry Potter did. He has no family. The boy’s lost and confused.’ Constance sipped her tea with dramatic timing. ‘I’d bet, if I were either of them, the thing I’d want most in the world is a kindred soul and some guidance to see me right through an unforgiving world. Mister Potter can give him that sense of family that he never had growing up. I imagine he’s a father figure to Rufus.’

Lighter thoughts had in the past been dropped onto Trassia’s brain. The implications of this weighed down hard. A good minute passed while she sat and debated inside her head. ‘I don’t imagine Mrs. Potter and their kids take too kindly to that. I guess this is probably pretty controversial in their family- I mean, if this _is_ what’s really going on and it’s not something entirely different. I’m not doubting you. I’m just thinking. I don’t want to doubt you.’ Trassia changed course before she could get interrupted again for crawling. ‘If I were his wife-’ _hah_ ‘-I’d be furious about having Rufus around my husband. His kids probably hate him.’

The woman yielded only a shrug. ‘It takes courage to change the world. Gryffindors are known for that.’

_Ah, yes, Gryffindor, one of the three cool and awesome houses to be in._ It was so good to hear that constantly touted in every social circle. It really never got old to see people look at Hufflepuff as the inferior house of the insignificant and the wishy-washy that didn’t have enough style or flair to be anywhere more important. What was that school saying? Gryffindors were heroes and adventurers, Ravenclaws were bosses and CEOs, and Slytherins were world leaders and supervillains. As for Hufflepuffs, they were just… literally not mentioned. Being in the house known for hard work and loyalty should have meant something more to the world. So far it only meant that she was really good at cleaning houses and mixing concrete on command.

Rants like that weren’t important enough to give voice to. They were best when they remained as a half-second of mental rage and were quickly passed by. Instead, Trassia sat up straight and sighed. ‘Yeah, they are. Thanks for talking with me.’

‘Anytime, dear. I love the company. You’re an interesting young lady and I enjoy our talks.’

‘So do I,’ Trassia said, honestly. It seriously beat sitting in her apartment, waiting for work and cooking for her ungrateful co-habitants. ‘You’d make a cool roommate.’ That just slipped out. Now that existed in the world.

Constance smiled at this for some reason. ‘I gave up long ago on living with people. I used to stay with my significant other, but I was a slob. He hated that I never cleaned up after myself.’ A merry laugh turned into an uncontrollable chuckle. ‘You’d hate to see my apartment upstairs. It’s a pigsty. I know where everything is, but only I do. I pick something up and put it back down somewhere else and end up looking for it all day.’ She was one of them. ‘I can’t even count the number of times I’ve spent all day looking for my glasses- which isn’t easy when you need them to see.’

Constance rambled on cheerfully. ‘But I used to live with this man, Arboreus. I loved his name. Very natural, earthy, it spoke to me. He was an artistic soul but he was so conflicted, dear. He was an artist, and painted the most gorgeous scenery. I still have some of his work stashed away upstairs somewhere. But he hated art, as good as he was at it. It was never good enough in his eyes, so he’d destroy a piece of work he’d been painting for months, and just throw it all away. He ended up going into business and investments. He was a muggle, so you know, which makes his name all the more outstanding. It’s a stressful job and damned if it didn’t make him even more bitter and argumentative. He ended up abandoning his art altogether. We got into a huge fight over that.’ More pretty blue tea was sipped. ‘Then one day I came back home and found him in bed with one of his coworkers.’ There was another silencing draw of tea. ‘You could say we went our separate ways after that. Then I moved to Magical London and opened up this shop, where I could have a place where everyone can be themselves without judgement.’ _Except for vampires._

‘I like this place.’ By now Trassia’s tastebuds had acclimated to the tea. It was quite pleasant now.

Constance nodded. The fake sun reflected off of the silky sheen of her wavy locks. ‘It likes you, dear. You’re exactly the kind of clientele I’ve been hoping for.’

That was touching. ‘I’m sorry that- no, okay. Sorry, no, uh… let me start over. I’m sad that nobody else knows about this place. It should be so popular. It’s pretty and calm in here. The world needs more places like this.’

Again the woman waved the notion away. ‘Maybe it’s best this way. It’s a well-kept secret,’ Constance said with a wink. ‘That said, if you ever want to bring your friends here, you’re more than welcome to. You seem like the kind of person that attracts kindred souls.’

If only. How strange it was that she’d only met this woman twice, it felt like a lot longer ago. This place was nice. That said, she had to pay for the tea. ‘So how much do I owe you?’ Trassia reached for her coin pouch. ‘I think I had five cups…’

A hand of authority stilled the effort. ‘I made it for myself to boost my mood and cleanse my aura. If you hadn’t come by today, it would have gone to waste. I can’t charge you for more than the one cup, dear. Besides, you listened to my problems, so fair is fair.’

‘No, but I-’

One hard stare was levied through a pair of round spectacles. The teen was muted. ‘Just the one. That’s my final say.’ Constance accepted no more than payment for a single serving.

Something inside said it was time to go. Today couldn’t entirely be wasted sitting in a coffee shop, even if it was a nice escape. Trassia then got up and gave a bow. ‘Thank you for having me. I’d like to come back soon.’

Constance waved gently. I’d like that too. Even if you don’t buy anything, you’re always welcome here. Come and stay as long as you like.’

It was so hard not to smile. ‘Thank you.’ This felt too good to be real. Before it all inevitably blew up, it was still a fun ride. Trassia slipped out and away into the throng of the busy city before she overstayed her invitation. It was best this way. All good things were best experienced in small doses, lest they fade into only bittersweet memories of the past.

The expanse of London seemed untouched by last night. Everyone had woken up in the streets, shouldn’t there have been more confusion? Nobody seemed to care. Had the vampires modified people’s memories, or was she missing something? The best place to find out was probably in one of the social centres, the only one coming to mind being Lockhart Plaza. It was the logical choice to head off to.

The streets were much noisier today, that was to be admitted. There was a lot more talk filling every corner. If there was some sort of public awareness, it was discreet. Was that better? It was seriously hard to tell when the wizarding world had its own cultural constraints separate from the entire muggle world.

Over in Lockhart Plaza, things were crowded. More than three times the people normally there were present, all standing around aimlessly. Many were gathered around a trio of public speakers by the fountain. By the look of it, most of the rabble had already dispersed, with many just going about their business or lingering in the background, but many still remained. Even in the few ranks, it was hard to make out what was being said. There was still too much talk. She had to get closer.

That unfortunately meant getting closer. This wouldn’t be fun. It was actually pretty easy though to slip in unnoticed and mingle with the clambering masses. It was easy to mentally admit that there was no real reason to do this. Getting involved meant getting into trouble. It was bound to lead to some manner of inevitable catastrophe, but curiosity had some plausible deniability to cling to. Nobody could blame her for just wanting to know what happened last night, or in the aftermath.

Three layers of sporadic bodies was close enough to make speech audible without displaying her face to the speaker. This was close enough. A long, thin face bore a pointy nose, almost a caricature as the bridge sloped downward and outward into a sharp, thin beak of a nasal projection. A pointed chin made her face into a tall V-shape. Brown hair hung loose and wild, barely combed into the facsimile of obedience.

‘-Hiding the truth from us about it. They _know_ we know! This is why we have to hold them accountable for their actions!’ The woman on the fountain waved her hands and pointed with purpose as she spoke. That face was familiar.

Most of the people around didn’t seem too sold on whatever gospel she was selling. Halfhearted interest was the best they managed.

‘The invasion has already begun and unless we act now, it will be too late to fight back! Look around you and find the truth! Granger says she wants to make a better world, but then _why_ has she let terrorists like Black Kandal and his son run around unchecked? Nobody knows what happened to anyone in the streets last night, isn’t that suspicious!? Her enforcers have been set loose to modify our memories and reprogram us to make us her mind-slaves! Her fodder! Last night was only the beginning! Hermione Granger banned magic in the muggle realm, limiting us to live only in her idealised utopia where nobody’s allowed to be free! That’s right, she’s invited vampires and other cursed folk to live in our city and slowly subvert our way of life! Now a month later we get attacked by vampires! They’ll feed on our children and kidnap our sisters, daughters, and wives! It’s happened all throughout history! It’s going on as we speak and she’s allowing it! Don’t forget, Granger overruled her cabinet’s objections and _forced_ their invasion on us!’’

Another familiar sight was produced from her person, pulled out from the breast pocket of a proper-looking business suit with a long skirt. The Bard Of Our Times was held aloft for all to see. Already were lines mentally being drawn. ‘The ministry allegedly rejects Black Kandal and his ilk, but they don’t do a thing to stop his people from wreaking havoc. We have a muggle-born woman in charge of our magical society and now suddenly _only_ witches and wizards- _the magically inclined_ \- are being attacked and murdered. It’s as if Granger only wants muggles and the muggle-born to be accepted and damn the rest! How else can you explain this!? Trust your mind, not what she puts into your eyes and ears through the mainstream media!’

Nobody still listening seemed to be walking away. Quite a few of them seemed content to mutter secret ruminations amongst themselves and each other. Trassia quietly listened, huddled into herself so nobody could bump or touch her.

This scrawny coatrack of a woman kept talking from her imaginary soapbox by the fountain. ‘You need to wake up, people! The world is going to hell in a handbasket and we’re being blindly delivered on a silver platter! The minister for magic is ruining our country!’ On and on it went. Nobody else was talking about what had happened, so at least this was something. Did this woman have a point?

The opportunity to find out came and went. Trassia’s phone gave a buzz from her pocket. It was time to slink away and check what-

A flash cut that notion short. From out of nowhere came the blinding light of a camera. Trassia looked up to find a pair of what looked like journalists butting into the public speaking session. A woman with long brown hair and doll-like, pretty face waved a theatrical hand.

‘A vampire uprising? Really?’ The intruder adjusted a pair of angled glasses upon her button nose. ‘I could write better fiction- but then again, I think I’d best leave that to the Bard. They seem better suited for conspiracy theories.’

It was far from difficult to identify this woman. The little face, the expensive, styled hair, the crimson corset with the bountiful cleavage, a short leather skirt and black high heels, all of these were the telltale signatures of Riccina Finch, the new up-and-coming journalist for the Daily Prophet. Her image was in every edition, beaming triumphantly beside her articles. The real deal waved a hand toward a floating notepad with a blood-red quill. It began scratching out notes all on its own.

Trassia had just been photographed in the crowd of a conspiracy rally. This was not good. She clutched her phone protectively and ducked away, out of the crowd. At least her head had been down at the time. All anybody would see is a mop of hair. Misfortune wasn’t done pulling her into the whirlpool of suffering, however.

A hand grabbed Trassia’s arm with kung fu grip. ‘Funny, considering we all know the Prophet’s controlled by the ministry these days. You might see a conspiracy, but _I_ see a group of concerned citizens who aren’t ready to be attacked and arrested for exerting their democratic right to free speech.’ The bearer of this voice was all too recent a memory.

Riccina straightened up. The game was on. ‘And where were _you_ last night? I heard you were _dead tired_.’

The fixed glower of Eudora Skeeter practically burned holes in the crowd on its way to Riccina. The blonde refused to let go of her prey, holding Trassia close with deceptive strength. ‘At least I get the job done without looking like a call girl. Face it, Ricci, we all know how you squeezed the information out of Korrigus Kane.’ It was Eudora’s turn to look like the cat that got the cream. A vicious smile dared her rival to speak again.

Riccina adjusted her low-cut corset a little lower. ‘Jealous that you don’t have the assets to draw in readers? Or that you don’t have the skill?’

By now the public cryer had grown impatient. ‘London is in danger of falling to the evils lurking beneath our society!’, shouted the living scarecrow of a woman. ‘Squabbling is only going to give the enemy more opportunities to attack us when our backs are turned!’

‘ _Or when our pants are down,_ ’ lobbed Eudora across the verbal court.

Riccina allowed herself a bored yawn. ‘If mudslinging is the best you can manage, then I’m out of here.’ She batted her photographer’s shoulder with the back of her hand. ‘Come on, Kristofer, there’s nothing important here. I need to go write an article about that interview I got with Harry Potter and Rufus Mooney.’ One last haughty, scathing glare was cast over her shoulder before Riccina strode off. A long-haired young man with an old camera trundled after her.

The damage had been done. The remainders of the public listeners began to file away and disappear into the all-consuming anonymity of the irrelevant background reserved for those not in immediate focus. The thin woman with the pointed nose emitted a shrill sneer and tramped away as well, having lost her audience. Soon only Trassia remained, locked in the steely grip of her captor.

With a cry of fury, Eudora threw down her own non-magical quill and notepad. ‘Ragh! I hate her!’

An attempt was still being made to wriggle free from the crazy lady’s containment, to no avail. Trassia eventually gave a resigned sigh. ‘Can you please let go of my arm?’

Eudora suddenly remembered her victim. ‘We must keep meeting like this.’ With most everyone having cleared off, Eudora took a seat on the edge of the fountain, pulling the unlucky teen down with her. ‘So Trassia, how’ve you been?’

The scary woman remembered her name, that wasn’t good. ‘Um, busy,’ said Trassia hesitantly. ‘I should go.’ “Should” was the keyword. “Could” was the variable.

‘I didn’t know you bought into Esper Moorcroft’s theories,’ Eudora bent over and picked up her tools, still clamped onto the girl.

This required some kind of explaining. ‘I’m not. I don’t even know who she is. I was just trying to find out what happened last night.’

Eudora laughed. ‘You won’t find out from her. Esper’s a Truth Seeker, as in the secret order obsessed with making ordeals out of everything they hear in the news.’ That was suddenly and simultaneously too little and too much information to express in one sentence.

‘Okay,’ said Trassia with a voice as blank as an underwater chalkboard. She was a little lost right now.

‘Last night, something happened on Turncoat Way. All I know is that there was a fight between the D.M.L.E. and the Candlers. Somehow, everyone outside lost their memory after lights rained from the sky.

The mild urge to enlighten the woman was somewhat mitigated by the death grip she had on Trassia’s arm. It was like being under arrest. ‘I’d really like to go home now,’ Trassia asserted, still polite out of obligation alone.

Evidently it counted for nothing. ‘So what are you doing here?’, interrogated Eudora chirpily.

Her nerve was running out. ‘If only I knew,’ Trassia said, now a little raw, ‘I just wanted to figure out what happened last night. I guess that was a mistake.’

Eudora’s rock-solid smile chiselled away at all remaining resolve. ‘If you read the Bard, you’ll find out. I’ll be covering the event in full detail.’ That might be hard when she was possessed through the event, but sure. This conversation was likely headed toward a fierce wheedling.

‘Then that’s sorted, I guess.’ It was time to go.

‘So Trassia, let’s finish that conversation about Rufus. I did some digging and you were right. Professor Mantacora was Lucrecia Mooney. How do you know what you know?’

This needed to be rebuffed. ‘I was just ignored at school a lot, so people talked around me all the time. I really wasn’t popular, at all.’

‘Just like me,’ said Skeeter. That was no surprise. ‘So I get the feeling that you’re not Rufus Mooney’s biggest fan. What was it like being at school with him?’

‘Uneventful. I wasn’t part of the action, I just heard a lot of gossip.’ This really needed to stop. ‘I really don’t know anything interesting, I’m sorry. I’m just a girl that was raised in the muggle world. I’m just trying to find my way around and not cause trouble.’

Out came the quill. Eudora locked her arm around Trassia’s like a good friend, keeping her pinned. ‘So you grew up in the muggle world? What was that like?’ Skeeter’s brain fired on all cylinders. ‘Hm… “Problem Fixed But Not Solved”. Ooh, I like that title. So you grew up unable to use magic outside of school. It used to be that before the Fix, children with wizarding families were allowed to practice magic in their own homes. Now nobody can do any magic outside of the magical world, and with the Candlers attacking witches and wizards, so many families are choosing to live in muggle neighbourhoods for their own safety. Was growing up in that environment stressful for you?’

Introducing herself to this woman was a mistake. Trassia gave up. ‘I packed my wand away all summer and never used it. I was told I should go to summer school to practice, but I hated school and my parents refused to lose me for seven whole years without really ever seeing them.’

This was written down. ‘I see. And do you like practicing magic?’

One shoulder lifted into a lazy shrug. ‘I guess. I- I, I didn’t- I didn’t learn much. It would’ve been more fun if I was allowed to practice on my own, but there are so many rules now, and the Fix doesn’t help.’

Eudora nodded sympathetically. ‘It’s just not the same curriculum it used to be, is it? Hermione Granger promised a lot of change when she stepped into office, but then there was the time-turner incident, the Catastrophe, the Candlers, and the controversial peace talks with the night-dwelling community, and now things just aren’t the same. We’ve been on the verge of violent uprisings and wars ever since she took control. When I was in school, our Defence Against The Dark Arts class was a lot more militarised. I hear your generation’s education is much more withheld.’

She could agree with that. Trassia nodded. ‘It’s a lot more homework and a lot less practical. Kids can get in a lot more trouble now for everything. I don’t like the bathroom and change room policies, at all.’

A sentence was scratched out on that notepad, ending with an enthusiastic period. ‘She’s walking a precarious political tightrope. You know, Granger reminds me of a woman named Dolores Umbridge.’

That earned another shrug. ‘I don’t know who that is,’ replied Trassia.

‘It doesn’t matter, you can read it in our paper, just look for the back-issues.’ The quill was pointed at the girl’s face. ‘What about the open inclusion of forced shape-shifter children in Hogwarts? What are your feelings on that?’ Eudora stared like a statue, waiting for feedback.

This shrug was accompanied by a shake of Trassia’s head. ‘It was… interesting. Most of the werewolves and other people- animal- f-form… shape-changers kept to themselves. They kind of had their own pack, and there are special rooms for them to go to when they change. I guess most people avoid them. I know the school lost a lot of students when that went public. A lot of kids transferred to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.’

Skeeter nodded approvingly. This was evidently what she wanted to hear. ‘Did you ever feel intimidated by them in any way?’

‘No.’ This reply was less exciting. ‘I kept to myself, though. If anything, I think they got bullied a lot, and I think it was hard for them to fight back, because you can start a fight when you’re normal and all is forgiven but if you’re a werewolf and you scratch or bite someone, you get lynched, even in human form.’

Greedy aspiration lit the reporter’s eyes up like fires. ‘ _Interesting._ ’

At this point there was nothing to lose. At least it wasn’t too personal. ‘The funny thing is the shape-shifters were called the Durmstrang Gang because they literally didn’t care about what house anyone was in. If you were a werewolf or a werecat or anything, you were just one of them. There were Gryffindors and Slytherins getting along and helping each other with their homework, and kids mocked them for that. Like, they got teased for betraying their houses. That makes no sense to me.’

Then it came crashing home like a derailed train on fire. Eudora didn’t look up from her notes. ‘Rufus Mooney had a werewolf friend, didn’t he?’

That boy was inescapable. Trassia surrendered with a beleaguered sigh. ‘Yeah, Madison Umbra. She seemed okay.’

‘Oh, a girl. Were they ever romantically involved?’

What did Trassia look like, Rufus’ secretary? ‘I don’t know, I never- I never talked to her. I think his friend Amos liked her.’

This brought pause to the push of the quill. Skeeter placed it down for a moment. ‘Amos Ashtongue? The muggle-born boy?’

‘Yeah. I guess maybe she liked him too, she put flowers on his grave.’

For a surprising moment there was silence. Eudora Skeeter tented her fingers in contemplation and let out a little nasally breath. Then it passed.

She didn’t ask about it. In all fairness, she had probably heard about it in detail. Amos Ashtongue had been the frizzy-haired, sarcastic friend of Rufus Mooney since they arrived in Hogwarts. While most of the other children were busy talking behind his back, Amos had the guts to speak to the boy like a human being. Even after Rufus went into Slytherin and Amos was thrown to Hufflepuff, they still stuck together. Rufus seemed to be the only one that the depressed kid could count on to avoid getting beaten up.

That was right, Madison’s brother threatened Amos and Rufus fought him over it in the fifth year. That had been another big school talking point. It was probably a fair exchange: Amos seemed to be Rufus’ wise-cracking moral compass, from what was seen and said. There was some symbiosis there.

Nobody knew what happened in the tunnels underneath the school in the seventh year when the school got invaded by Candlers, or how exactly Amos died. Victoria Parker only told the teachers that he gave his life saving Rufus.

‘Rufus really wasn’t the same after Amos died. They were like brothers. He was kind of Rufus’ conscience, too, so I can only imagine what it was like to lose him,’ said Trassia after a minute. Trassia had to mentally re-evaluate that sentence as it was spoken to make sure the names hadn’t been mixed up.

All this talk and the incessant rumours spread behind closed doors, is this what Harry Potter had to put up with during his youth? Nobody let up, did they? Maybe being famous wasn’t as fun as it seemed. Here she was gossiping about the stupid prat, Rufus. How respectful was that? ‘Can we change the subject? Please?’ Trassia sat up straight and pushed the thoughts free.

Fascinated eyes decompiled their target while a hand furiously jotted down notes without even looking at the page. Eudora acquiesced with a tilt of her head and finally let go. ‘Alright.’ She watched, like a cat. ‘How’s it going, adjusting to life in the wizarding world?’

_Why not?_ ‘Honestly? Frustrating. I don’t know what to do with my time and I still feel lost.’

‘Did you ever go and get a map from the tourist kiosk?’, pressed the journalist.

_Oh, right._ She’d said to do that. Trassia toyed nervously with her fingers. ‘No, I, uh, forgot. Sorry. I got distracted and sometimes information just- it, I mean it just leaves my brain and I forget, so I have to- well- I’m not a moron. I just, sometimes I can’t remember things. A lot. It happens to people, right?’ It did, probably, maybe. It did to her all the time.

Just the barest hint of a laugh almost succeeded in showing its face. Eudora smiled, entertained. ‘You’ve got quite the problem talking, haven’t you?’

She had to bring it up. Trassia shrugged meekly. ‘I don’t really have a good fr- it, I- I don’t do public talking. Words don’t work, it- it’s like tripping over a jump rope while trying to walk- er, talk. No, walk. That was right the first time.’ It would only get worse if she thought about it. Trassia tried to calm herself.

Eudora reached into her coat and pulled out a folded slip of paper. ‘Here. At least with this you won’t end up wandering into the Dark District or Butcher Alley,’

It was a map. The woman had gone out and gotten a map for her. Now it was Trassia’s turn to laugh. ‘Thanks. Yeah, it’s bad enough living on Murder Lane.’

There came that journalistic spirit as Eudora snatched up her quill and notepad. ‘Oh? Do go on.’

Wait, no. Trassia lived there, what was she going to say that wasn’t too personal? There was no way she needed this lady knowing where she slept. ‘I just mean it looks creepy there, that’s all. I guess there’s lots of places in London that probably look pretty creepy if you’re right at it- look at it right.’

‘Yes, almost as creepy as me, hm?’ Skeeter didn’t make eye contact this time.

Oops. ‘Sorry.’ Trassia genuinely apologised. Guilt could move mountains. ‘I- I didn’t mean to hurt your feel- your feelings. I just don’t like when people creeple up- cr- creeple… _creep_ up on me, or follow me.’ The girl sheepishly stared at her knees. Her hands desperately worked to physically reshape the broken sentence.

The dam sprung a leak. Eudora snickered. “Creeple? It’s cute, if not slightly annoying.’ There came the gentle sound of judgement.

A ‘sorry’ was the immediate answer selected by Trassia’s frantic brain. ‘I can’t help it.’

‘You’ll need to work on that if you ever want a future in public speaking.’

The conversation needed to change. Trassia took a breath and forced back the tension. ‘So, um, I- I had a question, about your last article… about changers.’ What were the chances this would get her exposed and/or killed? At some point she had to know something more. It had to be more than just a forbidden word.

The daring reporter perked up like instant coffee. ‘You read my article?’

‘Yeah,’ Trassia affirmed, ‘on the way home that day.’

Eudora was all in. She leaned forward with an incorrigible smirk. ‘You’ve never heard of changers before, have you?’

Evidently the woman knew where this was going. Trassia just followed the flow of the verbal river’s current. ‘No, I haven’t.’

Maybe for the sake of the game at hand or maybe for genuine privacy, Eudora glanced around around like an actress in a pantomime and leaned in uncomfortably close. Jasmine perfume teased Trassia’s nose. ‘I doubt your generation’s ever heard of a metamorphmagus, have you?’ There was no given prompt or wait time, Eudora just ploughed on through speaking. ‘They’re a sort of shape-shifter that occur randomly in witches and wizards. If muggles having a magical child is rare, then this is the same equivalent in magical folk.’

Those were some impressive numbers. Was this being pulled from actual statistics, and if so, from what source?

Skeeter was undeterred. ‘They can change their face, skin colour, hair colour, body type, or even their gender. If they want they could have dog ears or a pelican beak. They could grow wings.’

Some of that didn’t fit quite right. All Trassia could really do was listen. This was a dangerously treacherous path to be travelling. ‘Like an animagus?’

‘No, better. Animagi require a potion to unlock that potential. Metamorphmagi don’t. They can just change on a whim. Instant changes.’

Some of that matched up with her own experiences, but only some. ‘So a metamorphmagus can turn into anything? Like, it’s not like a werewolf or something where they can only change into one other thing, is it?’ Mentioning werewolves, that was a good cover. It sounded like a false lead.

‘No,’ Eudora confirmed. ‘Well, not normally. There are reports in some ministry circles about nameless changers like metamorphmagi that have started emerging in the corners of society. They’re deemed a downgrade, because they can only change into one other form.’

_Bingo._ Trassia shrugged in mock confusion for effect. ‘How does that go sort? Eh, uh, sort of, I mean, how does that work out?’

The resulting lift and fall of conspiratorial shoulders was no comfort. ‘Nobody knows. They may be a mutation or a new breed altogether. Research hasn’t been able to pin it down because nobody’s been able to capture one alive.’

‘So they’re basically a myth,’ said Trassia quietly. That didn’t help as much as it could have. ‘You said in the article that there might be a group making sure society thinks they don’t exist? Is it the Candlers?’

Eudora hummed in thought. ‘Probably not. If this is all real, then they’re likely an organisation of their own, working toward their own concurrent goals. The Candlers are just supporting their ideals.’

For a purely theoretical concept, Miss Skeeter certainly had a lot of confidence in her hearsay. ‘Where are you getting this information?’, asked Trassia.

A solo finger was raised to the journalist’s lips over a sly smile. ‘Hush hush, dear. So anyway, the Candlers want to destroy the ministry, and the changer community is thoroughly displeased ever since Hermione Granger discovered they exist in the ministry and purged them from their jobs without any explanation or justification I can find. Her opinions on people that can change shape is well-known.’ Eudora twirled her quill artfully. ‘Though she seems to despise werecats even more than metamorphmagi and the mutated strains. Nobody even knows why she hates them. But funnily enough, they’re legal whereas metamorphmagi and other changers are not.’

‘Almost everyone hates them,’ Trassia said, solemn as a coroner. ‘Nobody ever likes or trusts someone different.’ This conversation had taken a depressing turn far too fast. ‘So shape-changers are illegal?’

Eudora nodded. ‘It’s not a public law passed in congress, but the DMLE has an immediate arrest order for all changers.’

Despite the sinking ball of poisoned lead needles festering in the pit of her gut, Trassia managed to arrange yet another uneasy step over perdition. ‘I don’t think I like the wizarding world.’ It wasn’t worth it just to learn magic. The hatred never really ended. If anything it was worse than before. There had to be a public restroom nearby to be nauseated in. _Prison._ She could be jailed for being a changer, just like that. Even the muggle world wasn’t that medieval. Another pointless fake lead was necessary now to hopefully outwit a professional detective whose job was to expose secrets. What would even work? The first thought to wriggle free from the mental maze was the winner. ‘If I don’t even was in animal jail.’

Eudora pursed her lips and waited for a translation. There was some mercy.

_Better story. Think. Okay, maybe, it will do._ ‘So how long is it until animagi get jailed too? I can’t lose any more people. I have no friends anymore already.’ It was true if all of these sentences had nothing to do with each other in any way. Weary limbs hung weak with defeat. It was time to get out of here. Why, why, why, _why_ was she talking to a journalist? This had to be the true pinnacle of spinelessness.

‘Only unregistered animagi are put in Azkaban,’ Skeeter dutifully announced. ‘You have to register with the ministry if you become one.’

‘Good to know,’ retorted Trassia, done with caring. ‘I should go talk someone out of making a big mis- a mistake. Making a problem- mistake.’ That would be herself. It was time to rethink London.

Skeeter stood up and took a step back. ‘By all means.’ Those blasted eyes watched Trassia with omniscient obsession.

She was dead. She’d talked too much, this was it. There was no way Skeeter had fallen for any of that. It hadn’t even been a week in London and she’d put the noose around her own neck talking to a reporter. At the very least she sounded like an animagus sympathiser.

Once again her phone took action and vibrated, alerting her to another text message. That was two unchecked messages now, both likely from mom. Nobody else but her parents and her bosses had this number. Trassia started walking in any random direction that couldn’t be tracked back to her apartment, and pulled up her text messages. It was mom.

“Honey, just heard about a vampire uprising in London? Are you okay? Please text back.”

“Are you okay? Answer me please.”

This needed to be answered. Calling would be faster. Trassia dialled it in and waited the five endless minutes for it to connect. This was ridiculous, but it was all she had. It wasn’t like she could afford an instant-service Harry Potter phone.

Mom picked up as soon as it connected. ‘Hi Trassia! Are you okay?’, chimed Jin-joo’s cheery voice. Suddenly everything was right in the world.

Somewhere on some random street in the middle of a strange city, Trassia ducked down into a corner and hid away from the world under a flower box attached to a window. Nobody seemed to notice. The stress exploded out. ‘Mom, I screwed up. Can I come home, please? I- I just- please.’

Three seconds of silence were followed by ‘of course, baby. Where are you? Do you want me to come get you?’

The ability to not be a sissy had evaporated in the hot sweat of mental duress. ‘Yes please. I’m… I’m okay, physically. I’m not safe here. I… nobody, I- I- I can’t mom. I can’t do this.’ Tears burned her eyes.

Sounds carried well on a magical phone. It was easy to hear mom grabbing her coat and getting her shoes on. ‘Where are you? Stay there, I’ll come to you.’

Trassia shook her head, despite the fact that literally nobody of importance could see it. ‘No, I’ll come to muggle London.’ The Leaky Cauldron’s exit let out into Leadenhall Market, so it had to be near there. ‘I can meet you at The Garden At 120.’ That was nice and nearby. It wasn’t an unfamiliar place.

‘Do you want me to stay on the phone?’ Worry showed through her doting tone.

As nice as that would be, she had dangerously low minutes on her cheap phone. Such was the toll of getting a cellular device on the shaky income of a person with no solid job in the muggle world.

‘No, it’s okay. We can talk when you get here.’ She had to get moving. Mom would need to call a taxi.

Mom didn’t sound so sure. ‘Okay honey. Call me if anything happens. I’m on my way.’

The teen nodded into the blind void of the phone call. ‘Okay. I love you, mom.’

‘I love you too. See you soon.’ Jin-joo waited until her daughter hung up.

Trassia started walking. This is what it felt like to wash out and fail.


	9. Recession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having given up and turned her back on the world of magic and its ever-growing dangers, Trassia must face a hard choice, and a harder life.

A lone figure took up space on a bench among the polished steel and natural greenery. In the serene tranquility of silence, thoughts began to gently ebb and grow still. The mechanical world of smog and electronics was more familiar than any magic.

It was funny what kind of a world it really was after the illusion of school had faded from the mind. The constraints were gone, but the mentality remained. She was still a freak and an outcast. The fact that she’d got a job was only thanks to Travis- or… to her? Yes, technically she’d done that, all the way. That was right. She’d still played that body and face for eighteen years. It was only a lie on the surface. Inside she was always Trassia.

She couldn’t even pull her wand out to look it over and reflect, there were people and cameras everywhere. She’d just be picked off in the background of some social media post and arrested by the DMLE. All she could do was sit on a bench and pretend to be a muggle. It was a non-magical world, after all. They had their own technological miracles to replicate the impossible. Planes replaced birds. Computers simulated brains in plastic and metal shells. Remote controls and firearms replaced wands.

Nothing the non-magical humans made was designed to last, though. It all had an expiration date. Gears and servos wore down into scrap and conduits burned out over time. It was all just a cycle of harvesting the earth’s resources for convenience. It was funny how little some magic needed to keep going indefinitely.

Then again, her wand was a pretty steep toll to afford. Unicorn hair, that often meant tracking a unicorn down and harvesting its hair the hard way. They were mythical, shy creatures. What was it that had been said in creatures class in school? Consuming the blood of a unicorn bore a deep curse. What was the difference with any other of its humours or organs? Were they not cursed as well? Dragon heartstring was another core wand component, that meant someone had to murder a dragon and cut it up. Those were allegedly the grandest and most divine of mythical creatures in lots of folklore and religions. That never stopped anyone from farming them in this reality.

What kind of a world was this, honestly? Where was the real magic? Where were the aged magicians with beards down to their feet, living in abandoned observatory towers and conjuring lesser demons for information? Where were the witches in little covens, hiding in cottages in the woods and acting as guardians of nature? It was all modern beneath the surface. They were still humans being human, making rules and controlling every aspect of each other’s lives. Everything needed a wand and a spell. What happened to runes and magic swords? All the fun and wonder had been sucked out of the magical world with a plastic straw.

With a beep, Trassia’s antiquated muggle phone alerted her that her mother was here. By the time she had read the message and glanced around, a shape was already sprinting toward her. Trassia stood up and was knocked back down. In seconds a pair of open arms tackled her back onto the bench. Jin-joo’s worried face pressed against her cheek.

‘I’m here,’ she said. A thick Korean accent doused every word, but never deafened the worry ringing in her tone. She sat down beside her daughter in ladylike fashion, straightening her blue dress and purple coat. ‘What happened?’

This was going to take a while. Trassia sighed solemnly. ‘I w- I… okay.’

‘Take your time,’ assured the mother.

She was right, there was no pressure here. It didn’t need to be difficult. Unfortunately her own brain disagreed. Everything burst out like a rip in a paper shopping bag. ‘I came to London and I thought I was doing okay, because I was on the train when this- no, when, okay. This woman kept bothering me and ended up harassing me and it was so weird, but I tried to leave me alone- get me to leave her- agh!’ This wasn’t working. A frustrated hand grasped her face. _Focus._

Jin-joo reached out for her shoulder, but pulled back.

This required a meditative breath. ‘ _I-tried-to-get-her-to-leave-me-alone_ , but she just wouldn’t, and she ended up finding my name which might be in the newspaper, I don’t know how that works. I could be cited as a reference for all I know.’

‘For what, honey-?’

‘So I changed and I was good, right? Because I thought I was away and it’s fine, but then she found me again as _me_ me, like this in this form and she wanted to talk and ended up giving me a newspaper that says I can go to jail. I could be put in prison for this!’

Jin-joo lowered her voice. ‘ _For your… makeup?_ ’ They both knew what she meant.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ That stupid newspaper was still in Trassia’s pocket. She pulled out the crumpled heap and thrust it into Jin-joo’s unsuspecting hands. Then the deluge continued. ‘I just wanted… I… so I was trying to get away from her and she kept showing up and okay, so after the vampires and Rufus kind- kind of exploded and the city was weird but nobody cared, I was there when Eudora talked to me about- actually I asked. I asked about changers. She told me and she, I think she catch on- _was catching on,_ and now she might know and if she does I can go to jail.’ The tears all came back. ‘I messed up. I screwed up so bad, and I can’t take this. I’m sorry, mom. I failed.’

Not a lick of understanding reflected in her face. Nevertheless, Jin-joo leaned in and swept the girl up in another hug. ‘Shh, shh, come here. It’s okay.’ The woman stroked her daughter’s hair ever so softly. Long, green nails combed through the layers. ‘You can always come back home. Your father and I will protect you.’

‘Just read the paper,’ insisted the teen.

So mom did. A calm face gleaned through with studious detail, never betraying a thought. After the first page, she checked the second, then the third. Jin-joo read all the way to the end while Trassia sat there, nervously bouncing her feet, with her hands between her knees. When the woman finished, she swiftly shut it closed. ‘This is why I never read these things,’ she said with a sneer. The back of her hand smacked the last page. ‘A spell for removing dust? I have a better one all the way from Korea. It’s called a feather duster.’ She lost no time censoring her speech as two young men walked by at the worst moment. When they passed, she leaned in. ‘ _You know which spell. Page fifty-five._ ’ Her purple lips folded into a smile.

Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, that one.’ Mom still had to see how many spells she’d mastered. ‘But you see what I’m dilemma? Eh- What a… dilemma I’m in?’ That sounded better.

Jin-joo didn’t smile. Hard eyes gave no quarter. ‘They can’t prove anything. You’re a fine young woman, and that’s all you are. Nothing more to see. Poof!’ She opened her hands with a little wave, like a children’s show host. ‘No evidence. You could talk about aliens but it doesn’t make you one. Now, start from the beginning. You got on the train.’

This was going to be a long conversation. Trassia slowly went through it piece by piece, as Jin-joo filtered out all the superfluous errata thrown in by the verbal shrapnel Trassia called babble. It took a considerable deal of time.

It all came together eventually. Jin-joo patted her lap in thought like a child and nodded. ‘So you kept talking about animagi, yes?’

‘Well, yeah,’ said Trassia. ‘It was the only term I confidently knew.’

Mom smiled. ‘You made her think you know someone that wants to be an animagus. This is much more simple to get away with.’ It didn’t feel simple. ‘From now on, avoid the reporter. Don’t talk to her. If you see her, walk away.’

‘She’ll get suspicious if I do that,’ moaned Trassia.

‘She won’t find anything to be suspicious of,’ the mother asserted.

Maybe she was right. ‘I should just go home and give up on magic,’ mused Trassia pensively.

Jin-joo laughed and shook her head. ‘No, baby, you just need to learn to shut up.’ An air of finality washed over the scene as the woman stood up decisively. ‘I’m here now, so what shall we do? Do you want to go for lunch? We could see a movie or walk around town. If your father weren’t at work we could go to the arcade.’

All of this sounded nice. ‘I’d like that. I’m a bit hungry now.’ It was past noon now, food sounded nice.

Mother nodded. ‘Okay! Thai this time?’

That actually sounded nice. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’

‘Off we go!’ Jin-joo led the way, swinging her arms merrily and skipping like a toddler. When the duo were out and free from the park and down in the streets, the mother spoke again. ‘They have animagi in Korea, too. They’re very common, no laws about turning into animals there, since it’s just magic. We call them “dongmul-ui yeonghon”.’

‘Animal soul,’ Trassia repeated in English, That sounded cool, and more feral. It was like… a person unleashing their inner animal nature. ‘I like that.’

‘There are changers in Korea too,’ claimed mom with due nonchalance. ‘We call them shape-shifters. They have no fancy titles.’

‘Are they common there?’ None of this was anything they really talked about.

There came the back and forth head tilting of ambiguity. Jin-joo deliberated on it. ‘Yes and no. They’re rare. Once in a blue moon someone will be born that can change their body like what you call a metamorphmagus.’

This didn’t bode too well. ‘So you haven’t heard of people like me?’

Jin-joo lifted Trassia’s dour face up by the chin with a finger. ‘I haven’t seen other changers like you, but I don’t need a thousand of you. One Trassia is just fine. One day you’ll find out for yourself, I know you will. Just be careful. Don’t lose yourself seeking what’s already inside of you.’

‘Okay, mom.’ The two kept walking. Right now this was so much better than the wizarding world.

As they walked, mom talked. ‘Do you want to come home tonight? You can have dinner with us and sleep in your own room.’

Trassia actually laughed. ‘I plan to. I don’t know if I want to go back at all. I mean, I need to get my stuff at some point, but my roommates suck and I really don’t know anyone else. I mean, my job at the joke shop is kind of cool. I’m basically getting paid to hang around and sell stuff. I kind of did that for free before, so that’s a plus. I still have to interact with people though, that’s not my strong suit.’

Mother dear shrugged. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

Now the daughter had to be a whiner. ‘But I want magic. I have it, I deserve to be able to practice it. Why does everyone have to make everyone so complicated? I mean everything. Everything’s complicated.’

Jin-joo shook her head. ‘Normally I would say that’s life, but this isn’t. It’s people disliking other people. It’s never fair.’

‘I can’t even be me here,’ added the changer dismally. ‘I’d eventually get found out. I mean, bloodwork and stuff would screw me.’

This was nothing her mother didn’t know. ‘Your father and I will protect you. No matter what, you’re our precious daughter.’ At this the woman playfully booped Trassia on the nose with a finger. ‘Don’t you dare go back to living a lie.’

She really didn’t deserve this woman. ‘Thank you,’ Trassia blathered weakly. Hot tears began to sting behind her eyes.

* * *

Lunch helped. Browsing through stores and looking at fancy clothing definitely managed to pull the mood out of the doom and gloom. After trying and buying some makeup the two had moved on to a movie. She’d been gone for too many years. It was so easy to miss this.

By the time the mother and daughter stepped out of the cinema, the faint, distant glow of the failing light began to paint the bare edges of the city skyline a gentle orange-red. Trassia stretched and groaned as she faced the illuminated world. ‘Agh, sunlight. My poor eyes.’

Jin-joo merely sighed with a weary smile. ‘That movie was awful.’

A bout of laughter agreed. ‘Yeah, but we still had fun.’ Trassia gave her mother a playful nudge.

Mom wasn’t done. ‘When did it become all action and bad one-liners? I don’t understand superhero movies.’

Trassia nodded. ‘ _Technically_ it’s a remake of a remake. I think they tried to be witty by referencing the old, failed remake, but nobody cares.’ This was so hard not to poke fun at.

‘It made no sense! Why was he here and then there suddenly and how did he survive- agh. It doesn’t work!’ Jin-joo’s hands covered her exasperated face.

This was awesome. ‘I love the part where he literally visibly swung at nothing and the bad guy behind him backflipped into oblivion.’

Both the women had to laugh. Jin-joo then paused the merry banter to check her phone. ‘Oh, your father’s off work. He wants to know where to meet us.’ Mom paused. ‘Oh, he’s here, somewhere.’

Two heads glanced around until they made clear the sight of a white SUV in the cinema parking lot. That was it. It had to be, since it had the same dent in the back-left bumper. That was back a few summers, when they’d been stuck in traffic and that impatient driver decided to make everyone move by ramming into the back of their car. People were fools. The crazy guy seemed a bit less aggressive when all 6’4” of Roger stepped out and knocked on his window. At least it made their vehicle easier to find.

Once again in the modern now, a towering strawberry blond with arms the size of tree trunks climbed out of the vehicle. This time he strode over with open arms. ‘Trav! ‘Ow’s it goin’?’ Immediately the girl was swept up into a bear hug.

‘ _Trassia, dear,_ ’ murmured Jin-joo under her breath.

The massive fellow sighed. ‘I’ll get it one day.’ He let the girl back down. ‘Sorry, Tras.’

For anyone else it would have been annoying, but they’d raised her. She’d been Travis for eighteen years. It was hard for a parent to suddenly have their child change their name and lifestyle. ‘It’s okay dad, really.’

Nevertheless he gave an obliging grimace. ‘I’ll get it worked out, I promise.’

It would be okay. ‘How was work?’, asked the daughter.

This topic was much less fun. ‘Eh, we ‘ad to let McRees go. ‘E showed up drunk again. This time ‘e was shoutin’ an’ swearin’ at us. We told to go ‘ome an’ ‘e started throwin’ punches. I don’t care none what ‘e’s got goin’ on at ‘ome, ‘e’s out after that.’ Roger waved it off. ‘So Tras, are you stayin’ for dinner?’

She nodded at this. ‘Yeah. I might… might just come home and stay. I don’t know yet.’

Dad too nodded in response, just a quick up and down of the head. ‘Whatever you want. It’s okay. It’s not like we don’t miss ya.’

There was only one true place to call home. Trassia climbed into the back seat and buckled up, moving dad’s lunch kit and safety things to one side. The back seat was never not full of them. Then they were off, back to Devon.

Thankfully this time the car arrived intact.

Back on the little suburban slice of Hobbleton Street, all was well. Rows of homes lined the cul-de-sac, ending in a few more of the same at the end. Everything here was a little bit of a different sample of the same. The pink house at the beginning of the road was still gaudily adorned with an army of plastic flamingos. Mrs. Chussel was outside the old brown house, watering her flowers. It was good to see her again. Over a few in the yellow and brown catastrophe of a paint job, it looked like Mr. and Mrs. Camden had their daughter visiting from university. That black… whatever brand of car it was had to be hers. It was too hard to remember anything more about vehicles than the bare essentials.

A smile greeted back as the Noble family waved at the neighbour. Dark skin and a portly figure defined Mr. Panoush. The bald figure lowered his hedge trimmers and waved as well, bedecked in a floral shirt and shorts, in spite of the chilly climate. Some things never changed.

Then there was home. It wasn’t fancy. Nothing in her life ever was. A simple brown house had a simple beige door, with plain old windows and white curtains. It didn’t have a garage or lawn ornaments. It didn’t stand out at all. It was just home, unspoken.

Trassia unbuckled and hopped out when the car came to a stop. Roger stepped out and turned, a warm smile on his face. ‘I can make summat special for dinner so ya- oh.’ He paused. ‘Why’d ya change?’

Trassia sighed heavily. Suddenly her shirt and pants fit a bit tighter than they should have. The… girl sheepishly clutched her masculine hands together. The Travis body had prevailed for a minute. ‘Th- the neighbours were looking. They don’t- th- they can’t understand.’

A hand on the back pushed the teen along into the house from behind. ‘Come in,’ said Jin-joo. ‘Change back in there, we’ll close the curtains. Trassia was promptly walked into the house and away from prying eyes. Mom removed her coat and walked around, shutting every window from view before joining her husband in front of their child.. ‘Now you can be you.’

Maybe. The arguably female young adult toyed with his… _her_ fingers and sighed. ‘Okay.’ The voice was feminine. Red and black hair spilled down her back and across her slim shoulders. ‘Thank you.’

She had no choice. There was no resistance. Both at once, Jin-joo and Roger leaned in and wrapped the girl in a tight hug. ‘It’s okay now,’ said mom. ‘It’s okay.’

Roger nodded. ‘We’ll always accept you, no matter what you look like. Okay, Tras?’

There was no way to stop it. Trassia broke down. Tears began to flow like a river on their shoulders as she hugged back, tight as her arms could allow. Minutes passed while mom and dad stood and held her close. The crying didn’t stop.

The world was put on hold until it all went away. When the source finally ebbed and the waters dried out, Trassia sighed long and deep. Things slowly returned to a coherent state. It was another minute before she let go and stood up straight.

Mother filled the silence. Her gentle hand caressed Trassia’s cheek, brushing loose locks from her round little face. ‘One day you’ll come back here and stay the woman you truly are. Nobody will say anything once you make them believe it.’ Mom smiled. ‘That day will come, sooner than you know.’

Roger once more nodded. ‘You ‘aven’t been given an easy lot in life, dear, but you’re stronger than most people, an’ especially more than people give you credit for.’

‘Maybe,’ replied Trassia. That was debatable.

The tall man shuffled his feet in place. A quiet set of eyes darted toward his wife. ‘Jinny, could ya do us a brew, please? I want to talk to Tras for a bit.’

There was no misunderstanding in Jin-joo’s eyes. ‘Of course.’

Without force or coercion, Trassia was led off into the living room to the left. Father and daughter sat down, Trassia on the couch and dad in his reading chair. Dads had chairs. It was an odd parental pattern. It was odd to think that this familiar blue living room had become something other than the usual living space. It still was. That stupid apartment wasn’t real. It didn’t have pictures of family on the walls or a piano in the corner like here.

Trassia started. It honestly kind of blurted out. ‘I’m sorry I’m so much trouble for you and mom. I never asked to be this. I never wanted to be a changer. I tried so hard to be a boy and just forget about it.’

‘Don’t, no,’ asserted Roger. ‘You’re no trouble. You’re family, I won’t ‘ave none of this ‘bout not bein’ good enough. Trav- er, Tras, you know I told you about my past, yeah?’

It was this talk. ‘Yeah, a bit.’

He nodded in approval. ‘I won’t hide nothin’ from ya. I’ve been to prison. Drugs an’ all that. I was a bad kid when I was young, younger than you.’ Harmless blue eyes reflected on unseen memories. ‘Truth be told, I was a little shithead. Always in trouble. I got into drugs when I was, oh… twelve? No, closer to eleven, yeah. Pot, speed, glue, crack, cocaine, I did the lot. ‘Ad my fair share of bad times ‘cause of it. My parents didn’t approve, but that’s good on them for puttin’ their foot down.’ Then he raised a finger of thought. ‘I will say this for true: If I’d been shown the right way though, an’ not jus’ yelled at an’ kicked around, maybe I’d ‘ave turned out different-like.’

It was hard to tell where all of this was going. Trassia just sat and nodded.

‘I don’t ever want anyone tellin’ you it’s wrong to be who you are. I know, sounds funny comin’ from an ex-con, but what I mean is don’t let people push you ‘round and not give you a fair chance. You’re a bright young girl, I know it. I brought you up right, I did.’

Once more a ‘maybe’ was all Trassia could muster.

The man sighed. ‘Look. I’ll just tell ya an’ see if I can make sense out of it at the end, yeah? When I was a kid I ran with a gang and sold drugs. Did more than I sold, but that’s what it is. Sold to a lot of kids. I got picked up and put in a juvenile detention centre when I was fourteen.’ Now the memories washed across his whole face. Weary lines showed up where they hadn’t been before. ‘Saw a lot in there, stuff I never want you to go through. I bounced around in an’ out of there for a few years. My parents disowned me when I was sixteen. It ‘urt but I never really thought nothin’ of it then. I was just some kid on the streets, slingin ‘ash.’

Some of this was new information. Trassia listened intently, now curious.

He wasn’t done. ‘When I was eighteen I really cocked up an’ got pinched. The police brought me to court an’ I was sentenced to life in prison. Got framed for murders I didn't commit, plus I was caught with a car full of cocaine. Should ‘ave died in there, my girl, but I was a smart little bastard, knew how to talk the carry meself, ya see. It was enough just to stay alive. So I went to prison, thought I’d spend my time makin’ my bones as the Americans say, an’ makin’ a name for myself. I learned up good an’ quick it wasn’t the sort of place to be. What really made me learn was I met this old man. ‘E’d been in jail since ‘e was twenty-one. Multiple homicides. Killed ‘is wife an’ ‘er lover, an’ accidentally killed ‘is kids. But ‘e was _still_ there. Man was seventy-one years old. Fifty years in jail, Trav. Tras. ‘E was gonna die in prison, never seein’ the outside again. I got smart fast. I knew then an’ there that I’d made a mistake. I didn’t wanna be like ‘im.’

_A life in prison…_

‘I started tryin’ to improve myself in jail, ya see. I lifted weights, yeah, but I worked out my mind, too. Learned about law an’ ‘ow to go about lawyerin’ an’ the like.’ Massive, powerful arms rested on the chair. So many various tattoos covered them, starting at the wrist and disappearing up his sleeves. ‘I read a lot, learned more about law, tried my ‘and at some of the work courses like cookin’ and metalwork. I wanted to make a clean start, I did. An’ so I made it ‘appen. Eventually I got out. A friend proved me innocent. Anyhoo, when I got of prison after eight years with a new lease on life, I looked up my mom an’ dad. They didn’t want nothin’ to do with me. They’d cast me out, that was it. I was dead an’ done to them. Even my brother an’ sister ‘ad nothin’ to do with me. I was on me own. It ‘urt.’ An aged face mirrored old moments long gone. ‘Still ‘aven’t heard ‘ide nor ‘air of ‘em to the day. We’re all we ‘ave, Tras. The day I saw them an’ they turned their backs, that’s the day I changed my name. Went from Ramstead to Noble.’

That explained some things. ‘So that’s why none of my aunts and uncles are related to me?’

Roger gave a slight nod. ‘Yeah. Your uncle Duster I met in prison, we were cellies. God, he made me laugh. We’ve stuck close ever since ‘e got out. An’ your uncle Goodie was in my old gang. ‘E was smart enough to get out before he got taken down.’

Now it made sense why her cousin Arturos had dark skin and curly hair, and nobody questioned it. Both his father Goodie and mother, Margaret, weren’t exactly pale-skinned. ‘So our family’s kind of made up of ex-cons, huh?’ The thought elicited a weak chuckle.

Dad gave a smile. ‘Oh, more than you know. Your mum’s got a few things to tell you about ‘erself when the time’s right, but that’s for her to discuss. It’s not my right to say.’ He held up two massive hands, decreeing the subject closed. ‘Now, I know it’s not a perfect metaphor, what with you not bein’ a criminal an’ all, but what I’m tryin’ to get at is: Family’s not about blood relations or accidents of birth. No matter where you come from or what you look like, no matter what you’ve done or seen, as long as you mean well, we aren’t ever gonna turn our backs on you, Tras. Don’t matter none what you look like or what people think of ya. We’ve seen an’ done it all. Even if you lose your way, you can bet on it that we’ll damn well do our best to steer you right again. We’re not gonna judge you for summat as trivial as wantin’ to be a woman.’ Serious demeanour was overturned as he broke into a laugh. ‘If that’s all you got to sweat over, you’re the cleanest an’ shiniest one in the family, my girl.’

A point had been made, but another one stood out strong. ‘Dad, there’s an arrest-on-sight order for all changers. I can go to Azkaban for the rest of my life if they catch me.’

Now of all times was not the moment to shrug, but dad did. ‘So then you’re just like the rest of our family. But seriously, we’ll protect you. Ya don’t ‘ave to go back if you don’t feel safe. There’s got to be other ways to practice magic.’

That was a no. Trassia shook the thought away with the turning of her head. ‘Not as long as the minister for magic is in charge. She hates people like me.’

She had him there. Roger sat back in his chair and took that fact in. ‘I never liked magical politics,’ he uttered irritably. ‘Too damned goofy.’

Now was the perfect time for an interruption. Jin-joo quietly swanned in, tray and tea in-hand. Three cups were silently placed down on the table with professional skill. Mom took a seat next to Trassia and sipped at her drink. Awkward calm melted like chocolate all over the room. After she put the cup back down the world once again took a breath.

‘So did you like your surprise?’, asked Jin-joo.

What surprise was she- _oh, right_. ‘The book?’, asked Trassia.

Mom supplied a referential nod.

‘I love it,’ Trassia said with unadulterated honesty. A proud little surge blossomed deep within as she pulled it out of her- her… pocket over in her jacket on the coat rack. ‘One sec!’ The girl hopped up and bounced on over to grab it. The book was then shoved in her mother’s face. ‘I’ve been practicing!’

Mother scrutinised the cover. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Her smile was reward enough. The book was then shown to Roger.

‘You definitely ‘ave,’ said the father, pointing at the literary binding in question. ‘So that can’t work outside of the magical world, right?’

Mental tracks slipped off the rails of thought as cautious realisation usurped control of Trassia. ‘Wait, can’t it?’

Jin-joo confirmed this with a shake of her head. ‘No. The Fix suppresses the magic. Nobody can do magic outside of the magical world except for ministry officials, so there’s no need for that.’

Somehow that was depressing. Even still, it took a second thought to stop the question from forming aloud. _Wait, so how does it track magic I use in the muggle world?_ That probably would have been pretty air-headed to say now. Trassia shifted uncomfortably at the unspoken query. Another one popped up soon after in its place. ‘So how can ministrer- gegh- how can ministry people still use magic? Do they have another way out or something, or like a Fix-resistant badge?’

Both the magical mother and the muggle father shrugged at this one. ‘I don’t know, I don’t work for the ministry,’ snapped Jin-joo, not even slightly mean or aggressive.

Roger leaned forward. ‘I think they’d wanna keep that secret under their ‘ats, poppet.’ Dad had a point. It was still worth a smirk in his eyes.

So that was probably a pretty stupid question. She was on a roll this week for making mistakes.

Mom suddenly clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s not talk about this. Let’s watch a movie.’

That was… a solution, of sorts. It oddly worked, though. In minutes the entirety of the trio had mustered their collective thoughts to deliberate over a suitable film. After an old Disney classic was decided on, Roger assumed control of the kitchen to make popcorn. Everything was all ready to go in minutes.

Very soon the night wore on into the darkest hours, and a movie was replaced by a late dinner. Soon that too faded away into the quiet sight of a starry ceiling and cherry blossom walls. At long last a peaceful sigh tore down all the doubt. All the little trinkets and baubles had been stripped away, but it was still home, in her own room, at last. “Right” was more than a feeling. It was a presence.

Trassia heaped down into the cool sheets of her freshly made bed. Mom had been cleaning again. It wasn’t long at all before sleep took command.

Dreams rushed in where darkness fell. Slowly the curtain of somatic haze fell like a showering curtain of stardust. The black infinity of darkness no longer had reign. In what felt like an instant, she was in a new world.

There was always the problem that dreams were picky. They didn’t behave according to any set rules. Having something like a body wasn’t considered mandatory. What bare, fragmented semblance of intelligence now passed for Trassia hung about, formless and placeless. She was the eyes behind a viewing screen, nothing more. It was almost always like this.

It wasn’t bright. It wasn’t supposed to be, since it was nighttime, but somehow, that stood out. It was notable. It was night. It shouldn’t be. It was. It is. It will be. Night was important, more than daytime. It basked and stretched in its own presence, expanding ever the more across the unexplained world at hand. For some reason it was matter-of-fact. It was here, it was wrong, and it was staying.

They gathered. Little groups of creatures milled around uselessly. Humans did, too, all standing in place. Something had been switched off. Every one of them just hung fixed in place, staring through glassy eyes at an empty nothing. Their world didn’t exist beyond the pupils. Nobody moved in the endless geography of stone and roofing. Gothic structures dominated archaic old streets. Gas lampposts glowed with an ethereal flame.

As far as dreams went, this one wasn’t really bad, just odd. Everything in a dream had some license to be vague and surreal, after all. There was no way to move or react. Trassia wasn’t really here, just present. She had no voice to speak or eyes to see from. This was all just bizarre fact interacting with the barest ghost of her raw essence. It was The Knowing.

Not everyone was still in the old city of stone arches and ancient wrought iron. Grey cloaks moved independent of the quiet drowning the dead streets. Dim light blurred with the displacement of air as they walked, slowly traipsing through the corridors and alleys. Maybe there were twenty or so. Numbers were hard. It could be twelve. They just walked, gathered together. All as one, the unit scanned. Members stretched out from the mass of the collective like a tendril, straying only a little to inspect various persons or objects before retracting back toward their kin.

Methodically, they scoured through the streets until they reached a large building, much more extravagant than the others. Black brick and gorgeous stone formed a large, ornate box of a structure. Steepled roof points bequeathed it more elegance yet still. Glowing purple flames burned on open torches on every corner and over a large, wooden door fit for a castle.

The grey shapes gathered closer, huddled like ducklings in winter. One stepped forward and reached out to the hasderingsha. Grey, gloved fingers touched upon its surface, tracing an unknown rune. With a shudder, the wood yielded and opened. The one retreated back into the many.

Air contorted and twisted like the event horizon of a bonfire all around them. Slowly, they walked into the lobby. Details began to ebb and fade. There was a black marble floor. There were walls- _no,_ there were no walls. There was infinity, stretching out. Universes and stars could be seen looking out far enough into the collapsing, endless stretches. There was a ceiling, though. It too was polished black, and habrageen like a chess board in perfect squares. Ornate black pillars had a base and a top affixed to the ceiling, but the middles floated independently like large, stony, swollen toothpicks, pointy in each end. A purple gem rested in the core of each.

Durasharva in here were different. They weren’t still at all. These things could move, and did. Inhuman limbs unfolded as they became… something. The grey collective was unphased. More air was melted and displaced as a dozen arms stretched out, each hand holding… a grey… something.

The inhuman creatures dodged and weaved from unknown spaztartha, habbreeni as the wind. Maybe they had amulets, or wands. They had something to fire back with.

Hith. Toth non there.

Fighting was theoretically what happened, as both prix fired unknown somethings back and merhede. One or two of the grey-robed hasra shan tot. They were mortal after all.

Of course they were. They were mere implements in a deeper system of incalculable events spired like fragile dominoes, all bolted together to become a perfect system of checks and balances to weigh the scales into the new outcome. They were the force that feeds. They had the shape. They were alignment. _It was toth non there, but you knew that, you little, spying eye with the empty face. Watching is such a dirty little habit. Don’t be wasting time, now, child. You know I will find you and come for you. It doesn’t matter where you are or where you hide. There will be silence for all in the end. You will close your mouth long before you see the eyes of eternity and shut your mind off forever._

_Sharmahuc nothra shalheed abrine karth an e tut. Sholbrath’kort supra teka nar fi. Sibra, sipapsis eredovors e al et tal he teed._

The grey figures walked past the lifeless corpses without concern or fear.

_You little spy._

They walked through chambers without walls and across hallways without floors, through doors that had no body or frontier of transitive passage. Endless _spy_ doors held endless secrets. The plate _interloper_ on the door they approached, ciphered in an ancient, unknowable old language said… “Department Of Incorrections”. It was all black, black on _unwelcome here_ black, on black, in black, through black. _Little weevil._

There came that fuzzing. Math and numbers lost coherency, just like words. Thoughts were jarred loose and destroyed as her… _not a brain anymore, there was no brain here to fail her,_ shook from the shock. A loss of attention almost faded everything into darkness. Consciousness nearly took hold, and with it, the dammed wall of thoughts and sentience threatening to return. The distractions almost won. Trassia clung tight.

Something deeper held on where thoughts couldn’t reach. It was deeper even than instinct. The greys walked into a chamber. This one was the same, with no walls. The ceiling and floor hummed. The infinite blue of what could have been hyperspace lit the room up from outside, as if flying through burning plasma at a million miles a second. The group walked up to a floating object spinning gently in the air. One of them cautiously stepped forward.

_This is over._

Reality and all its lack thereof suddenly turned sideways. Everything in her mind was upright, but everything else took a diagonal turn, slipping free from her grasp and off into new vectors of perception. This time the intangible form was too awkward for her unformed mind to grab hold back onto. If it was a car, it had taken a hard left turn, and her hands couldn’t hold on to anything well enough to get dragged along. The visions slipped away.

Normal dreams returned like a television channel resuming after a movie was turned off. Then it took about a minute or so for a bird to fly into the window with a “tump” noise. Trassia woke up to the sight of early morning sunlight through the window. Her old digital muggle clock read out 7:12 AM. She didn’t even have her first class for nearly two hours, this was unfair. The girl rolled over and went back to bed. Memories of her dreams played behind her eyelids. Bicycling down the street had turned into talking with her mom. Their old cat was still alive and well. Then for some reason they were shopping for school supplies before the dream seamlessly transitioned to her lingering in the school hall while a couple of professors talked about the blond nightmare’s newest exploits.

Then there was that part about the dark city and the hooded weirdos. That was weird. Sleep suddenly wasn’t an option. That presence out there, it wasn’t just another meaningless nothing passing by in the stream of kaleidoscope errata. It felt more real. Admittedly, some dreams were like that, it happened. This did feel different, though. That blow to her senses, that shouldn’t have happened. Without a body in her dream, it was hard to describe it, but it was there, that feeling. Something unseen had sensed her and blindly lashed out, trying to throw her off. It hit like a sloppy punch to the face, through the skull and into the brain, levering her focus off and away.

It was different from the usual inability to focus on something for extended periods of time, This wasn’t half an hour into studying, where her brain would suddenly refuse to process any more information and look for any distraction. This one had been forced, just like two hands pushing back. That really was the best metaphor… or simile, whatever. Was it real, though?

It had been fifteen minutes, evidently she wasn’t getting back to sleep. There was nothing for it but to sigh resignedly and open her eyes. There’d been a sound at the window at some point, unless she’d dreamed that up. No, she’d been awake for that, right? She’d seen a bird hit the window.

No, she was asleep, and rolled over. Her dream brain had gaslit her again. The teen lazily crawled from bed and got up to check the window, looming out in her pyjamas like a goon. Short male hair said she’d instinctively transformed into Travis. Nobody could ever see a teenage girl poking her head out of Travis Noble’s bedroom window. What would they say?

Sure enough, there was a robin laying stunned on the shingles. That was unfortunate. This wasn’t the magical world, though, and she couldn’t do healing spells anyway. If it was alive, it probably was best to let it stay where it was, the poor thing. It also probably had bird germs on it, not that she couldn’t just get a piece of paper towel and some hand sanitiser.

That was enough of that. She was up, the day had begun. It was back to the daily grind. Trassia dropped to the floor and struggled through her fifty pushups. After that the girl reluctantly shifted into her male body and started all over again. Both bodies needed upkeep. It was wrong, and foreign, but so grudgingly familiar, as her male muscles strained in her feminine bedwear. Tight arms easily lifted her up and down in fluid motion. She was a machine. The body knew what to do.

Then she was Trassia again, slender and crimson-streaked. Sweat rolled off of her round face. This body was so far out of shape compared to eighteen years of labour and toil. It was nowhere near as instinctive or honed. She was pathetic compared to Travis.

There was so much to do. It was a good thing she had all morning. Even if mom and dad were asleep, the memory of the lessons remained. It was just a matter of practice. She quickly changed into a sports bra and a pair of shorts and started the old routine.

Just now it hit home that she didn’t have class later today. Morning logic was awful. At least this one was a secret shame she didn’t have to tell anyone about.

Magic had never gotten her anywhere, anyway. It hadn’t taught her how to escape human traffickers or break a pervert’s wrist. It wasn’t a wizard that trained her to survive a prison fight, it was dad. He didn’t need magic to be strong. No witch or wizard ever seemed to exercise or work out. Without their wand, they were essentially muggles anyway, but less competent in the real world.

Each successive punch hit the invisible target harder and straighter.

How many witches knew what to do anyway if they detected a gang of men following them through the street and setting up a trap? What, would they apparate away? What if their wand was taken? Did they know how to look for signs of tainted drinks in bars or which people to reach out to for help in a room full of strangers.

Every high kick got a little higher and a little less stiff.

Trassia owed this to her parents. The girl wasn’t a good witch, that was fine. She was a worse wizard. That was just how it was. Not everything needed to be about spells. Everything she was, was the culmination of what she’d been taught. Hogwarts had no place for anyone different, as much as it claimed otherwise. If she couldn’t study or make friends, it was all her fault. Nobody cared. It was archaic. At least mom and dad took the time to pay attention.

A windmill kick could have broken a face, and her ankle. There was a lot of training to do, and it was going to take a lot of time. Her fragile little body wasn’t toned or honed like it once had been in another form. It wasn’t worth going downstairs to get the punching bag and risk waking her parents, though. All she could do was kill time until it was alright to be awake.

Today that ended up being about an hour and fifteen minutes. As silent as she was, the signs of mom’s routine were there, ever so discreet. The kettle was taken off the burner before it could start whistling and the coffee maker quietly percolated on the counter.

It was safe to come downstairs now. Dad wouldn’t be awake yet, so it was probably fine to go around as she was dressed. The shower called Trassia’s name. The girl gathered some of her things from her dresser and headed downstairs. It was a good thing that she didn’t take all of it with her to London. Going naked wasn’t her idea of fun. _Well,_ there was always Travis’ clothes. How hard was it to rock some baggy jeans and a men’s T-shirt? The tomboy look could be cute.

_Hah, how about that, though?_ What if someone had seen her peering out of the window from Travis’ bedroom? Nobody around town knew Trassia. She’d be the rumour mill for her own secret affair. “Attaboy, Trav, go get’em.” Was it weird that the thought of this made her smirk just a little? She had some mad skills at getting the girls, evidently.

Cute girls, too, according to the bathroom mirror. The scruffy morning hair and greasy complexion probably didn’t help, but all in all, she could definitely have looked worse. This form definitely looked more like mom than dad. Travis had a stronger chin and cheekbones, with a taller face, slightly lighter hair, too… it was sort of dad. Travis’ male complexion stared back as she transformed. Suddenly she was a man in a bra.

Dad’s dazzling baby blue eyes stared back at her from her Travis body. So okay, maybe she’d gotten kind of handsome. Her incisors weren’t massive buck teeth compared to the rest of them anymore. A full set of adult choppers had evened that out. There were now some muscles there on those broad shoulders. She was still definitely Korean, that would never change. That was no downside, though. If it were anyone else’s body, it would look right. It didn;t suit a woman, though.

Off went the clothes, dropped lazily on the floor like a true male. A strong right hand pulled open the shower door and turned on the water, hotter and hotter. Soon the room was full of steam. She was totally free, just for a few minutes. It was time to stand around uselessly and soak in the heat and silence in peace.

When the warm water eventually began to run out, Trassia reluctantly cleaned herself off, switching over to her true self after Travis was begrudgingly taken care of. All that long hair was a real pain in the butt. Both sides needed upkeep. Even hiding an injury by shifting couldn’t fully erase it, even if the other form was untouched. Eventually it would heal, mostly, but it was never the same. That scar on Travis’ leg would never look good again.

Eventually the water ran cold as Trassia finished her cleansing routine and towelled off. Now she had to play the game of brushing both sets of hair. If she ever did manage to date, the unlucky sucker would probably have to be a changer too, just so she could feel safe and comfortable with someone that understood. A metamorphmagus might, though. Either way, at least they’d both have the prisoner’s dilemma of not being able to snitch on the other for revenge over a bad breakup. That still limited her options a lot. What kind of a life was this? Most of her newfound “kind” were targeted relentlessly as terrorists. She likely would be too if anyone ever found out. This was so impossible to deal with. How many of her kind had already jumped off a building or swallowed a bottle of pills to get away from it all?

What would happen to her when she couldn’t take it anymore, or when someone eventually found out? What did Granger have against people changing their bodies anyhow? What would she do if it were one of her children, would she be so judgemental then? Probably, actually, she hates werecats and all changers. Evidently she’d never heard of the idea that beating a dog only makes it more likely to attack its abuser. This was not Trassia’s idea of a world.

It was her breakfast, though. That smell wafting in from under the door said mom was busy making food. It was time to get dressed and start the day. This time her choice was a sky-blue shirt with kittens all over it, and some skinny jeans. Socks weren’t on the agenda today, and neither was Travis. That was just fine.

Today was a good day to forget all of her problems. Trassia skipped out and over to the kitchen and hummed a little tune about a familiar willy, nilly, silly old bear. It was as close to whistling as she’d ever be able to manage.

Then life decided to kick her in the- the… _uh…_ the head. _Yes._ Trassia froze up as a young man with dark skin sat at the kitchen table, settling into a plate of grilled short ribs and some spicy seafood salad. The girl froze in place as cousin Arturos glanced over and eyed her up.

The world really hated her.


	10. Scrutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After deciding to take some time off of life for the sake of her mental health, Trassia has a run-in with her cousin Arturos. The only problem now is... Arturos. It can be hard to keep secrets from family.

Biology ruled the biochemical impulses sending feedback all up and down Trassia’s genetic information highway. Nerves erupted into panic like lightning, forcing muscles to tense up tight as locks. The apathetic face of her cousin stared her up and down, lingering on her thighs and breasts. He was checking her out. The man had no idea. Now she was being mentally undressed by him.

The ability to talk had been suppressed by her floundering synapses. Mom had to intervene. ‘Arturos, this is Trassia.’ Her eyes watched the girl for feedback. Did she tell him the truth or was Trassia some distant relative from the Korean side? Mom got no feedback other than desperate carnal fear. She’d been caught as a woman. The mother guessed. ‘This is your distant cousin, Trassia. She’s visiting for a while.’

The young man gave it nothing more than a nod of approval. ‘Cool.’ He wasn’t looking away. Now he gave Tras a little smile. This was not good.

Mom suddenly changed sides and began un-helping. ‘Trassia, sit down and have some breakfast. Come visit.’

She didn’t disobey mother. ‘Okay,’ Trassia managed through the unease. A seat opposite the boy was taken and filled with raw fear. What would she even say? There came that pressure under her jaw, filling the top of her throat. Her stomach churned. The urge to throw up had affixed itself to her state of being.

Then it got worse. Arturos decided to speak. ‘You’re Trassia, right?’, he said, going to town on a plate of ribs. ‘Where you from?’ Even with a normal south London accent, he tried to talk like a street-wise hood.

‘Uh.’

Mom once more rushed in to save the day, sort of. The winding road of perdition only got longer and longer. ‘She’s my sister’s daughter. She’s just moved into London, so she wanted to stop by and visit.’ Now the woman made eye contact with her daughter. ‘It’s okay, honey, you’re safe here.’

‘Yeah, it’s cool,’ Arturos added, still eating. Once again his focus centred on the new girl on the block. ‘Nice hair, looks good on you.’

Over by the counter, Jin-joo merely pressed her fist to her lips in tentative observation. She was no fool.

‘Thanks,’ Trassia replied out of sheer obligation. The man was sizing her up for dating or… something of the like. She should have stayed in her room. She was fresh out of the shower too and it showed. That was probably more awkward mental images. This was beyond awkward.

It got worse the more he talked. ‘So where you live in London?’

_Um. Crap. Uh._ He would know any phony address she made up and he could easily track a real one. Throwing up was cool, she should try that. Instead Trassia had to speak. _Oh…_ an idea struck. ‘I don’t really know where I’m on the- living road. Lane. I live. I live- just live on the road. I mean. Uh.’ Her eyes veered over to mom in desperation then back to her breakfast. What was it called? What was the stupid, fake name she called the place she lived? It was something silly. He’d have plenty of places in muggle London to check first if he wanted to creep around, looking for her. It had something to do with dragons.

‘Trassia,’ said mom cleaving through the panic like a red-hot sword through pre-melted butter, ‘didn’t you say you call the road by your dormitory Murder Lane for some reason?

_Yes, that. Thank you, mom… thank you. Oh goodness,_ now she was sweating. Her face was still damp with shower water and she was filthy again. This was like summertime all over again. ‘Yeah,’ Trassia said, nervously taking the wheel. ‘It’s like, just this creepy road and there’s always some guy passed on in the street or this one dude who gets locked out of his apartment, if it is his apartment, and one time he had no pants one and I don’t really want to know why, but I think I know, and it’s just, eugh, creepy. I don’t… really need to… sssssee that.’ She was rambling. _Rambling alert._

Arturos cocked his head. ‘Murder Lane? You ever see anyone get stabbed?’

The girl shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she admitted earnestly with what almost passed as a breathy chuckle. At last the words flowed out smoothly. Conversation was sort of starting.

The cousin said nothing more of it at the moment. ‘So what are you doin’ here?’

What did it matter, who was he to ask, DI Frost? ‘I’m visiting my aunt and uncle.’ The words tumbled out shamefully, wrapped in the sour toxin of a well-meant lie. The taste alone withered her tongue. She had to keep swallowing the flavour. ‘I just wanted to come and see them for a bit.’

‘You stay the night?’ He never stopped. The young man was a fountain of curiosity.

‘Yeah,’ replied Trassia, innocently.

Cunning eyes formulated awkward questions. ‘Where’d you sleep?’

It was too late by the time she answered. He’d walked her into a corner. ‘In Travis’ room.’ Then the thought hit: How did this look? _Wait, no,_ this was fine. She was just her own slutty girlfriend, this was fine.

No, wait, she just claimed to be her own cousin. Incest was not so hot on her list.

Arturos kept emptying the breakfast table. ‘So where’s Travis?’

Where was Travis? That was a good question. Where did she leave the concept of Travis Noble while she was out gallivanting about and visiting family? Yet again Trassia hitched a ride on the mom train.

Jin-joo was much faster on the draw. ‘Travis is out on a road trip with some friends. He’ll be gone for a month or two. I invited Trassia over to stay as long as she likes while Travis is gone. I missed my baby niece.’ For dramatic effect, Jin-joo gave Trassia a big hug from behind, pinning the young woman to the chair.

This appeased the nosy relative, for now. ‘Cool,’ he rebutted nonchalantly. ‘Was gonna ask if Travis wanted to hang out but I guess it’s just you an’ me.’ Of course Arturos then eyed up the only other individual in the room around his age. He gave a manly lift of his head, like an upward nod. ‘You wanna check out my car? It’s a ‘69 Shelby GT 360. Custom paint job. Spinners on the rims.’’

Now she had to pretend not to know about his car. It wasn’t as if he didn’t go showing it off every time he was around. Cruising around together and scoping for fit girls was pretty fun, though. He was a good wingman. It was also a chance to be around normal people for once. On the other hand, he was staring at her breasts every time she wasn’t making eye contact. Yeah, she noticed. _Agh, decisions._

‘That’s a really cool car,’ Trassia said, playing his game a little. Mom watched like a hawk. There would be no family sex under her roof, or in associated vehicles. ‘Would you be cool to just go for a walk, though? I’m still kind of new to Devon, I don’t get to visit all that much. It’d be nice to see it on foot. Plus, I really need to get in shape.’ That sounded smarter.

The young man acquiesced with a quiet sigh. He stashed his palmed keys firmly back into his pocket under the table. He was too easy to read. ‘Yeah, sure, I can walk. You a fitness freak or something?’

That Trassia could nod to. ‘Kind of, yeah. I want to better myself. Getting in shape helps you build confidence… or it’s supposed to.’

Arturos soon had his fill of food and had packed it in. He always knew when breakfast was at the Noble house. After he had demolished the morning’s spread, he threw his used napkin down with enthusiasm and swung over and off his chair like a dismounting horseman. ‘Let’s roll.’

Over by the counter, mom merely stared a motherly stare, locking sights with her child. Unspoken words rang loud and clear. “ _Be safe. I hope you know what you’re doing._ ”

Her little girl only shrugged. The temptation to see her family was too strong. Some real, normal company was desperately needed right now. If she could pull it off- being her own cousin, that is- then she could get on with life. Maybe this was a good test. On the way out, she grabbed her boots and leather jacket, and waved goodbye.

It was still bloody freezing in January. This was already a bad idea. She started walking anyway, just to avoid mention of the car. There it sat in the driveway, black as the night, with crimson detailing. It actually kind of matched her hair. It was cool, but it was still just a metal box thing with wheels and a large price tag. Cars never had been fascinating.

Arturos still pointed it out as they passed down the stoop and across the yard. ‘There it is. I put a lot of work into it.’

‘I bet, it looks like it cost you a lot of money.’ She hit the sidewalk and didn’t look back.

That he laughed at. ‘You have no idea.’ Arturos followed along in a green jacket and baggy jeans. Neither one of them were prepared for the lasting sting of winter’s dying breath. ‘Freakin’ cold out here.’

It certainly was and her hair was wet. ‘Yeah, but it’s good, right? It’s brisk, I like it.’

Arturos laughed a little laugh. ‘Man, the only thing I like brisk is my iced tea.’ His fancy green sneakers hadn’t seen much of any action. They were practically new, and expensive. He kept walking anyway, keeping pace as they strolled through the neighbourhood.

One or two faces from the block caught sight. It was training alone that stopped her from transforming back into Travis in broad view of who knew how many people. She was a stranger here, walking with her own cousin. Anyone could be thinking anything. One hard breath pushed it down into her gut. She could do this.

Talking helped. ‘So what are you doing here? Do you visit my aunt and uncle a lot?’ Of course he did. Of course she knew. It was a topic to start on, at least.

Arturos shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess. They’re good cooks.’

That was worth a laugh. ‘So you just come here to mooch off them for food?’

‘Nah. Well yeah, but I hang out with Travis, too.’

_Maybe twice a year!_ ‘Oh, cool. I don’t really know Travis all that well. What’s he like?’ What was he… _she_ like in the eyes of hhhhher cousin?

The topic started with an ominous shrug of apathy. ‘Eh he’s cool I guess, a bit awkward. Hard to talk to him.’

_Well…_ that was probably true. It was hard to talk or feel comfortable as Travis. It really was freezing out here. Her breath was forming into mist. ‘Maybe he’s just not sure of himself.’

‘If you ask me, I think he’s gay.’ That came from nowhere. Arturos rolled that right off the tongue without a second thought and just kept walking. He was feeling the chill too.

It was hard not to pause in place at that verbal serving of blunt savagery. ‘Wh-what makes you say that?’ Trassia had to walk fast to catch up.

There was more. ‘I dunno, he’s awkward and weird, an’ when we used to go cruising for girls he’d always chicken out an’ go home dry.’ What stunning language. ‘It’s like he doesn’t like women.’

The next sentence had not been thought through as clearly as she had hoped. ‘I dunno, he seems pretty straight to me,’ Trassia replied, rubbing her neck awkwardly.

Arturos cocked his head, mentally re-checking that last input. ‘How would you know that? Did he hit on you?’

That could have been phrased better. ‘No, okay, no, he didn’t, no. Ew. Just no. No.’ Even she didn’t really like Travis. ‘He just seems interested in girls to me.’

The boy laughed out loud. ‘What’d you find under his mattress?’

She was changing the subject, now. ‘Anyway, what do you do? Do you have a job?’ It had been a year since she saw him, so it was a fair question.

Good old Artie nodded. ‘Yeah, I work in a car dealership.’ He was still there, then. That job must have been working out if he hadn’t quit yet for something better.

‘Cool,’ Trassia replied, starting to shiver. This wasn’t really working out.

Arturos noticed. The man stopped in his tracks. ‘Look, let’s just go back to my car. I can put the heater on.’

Now the debate came. He was her cousin, and like a brother, but he did spend all morning undressing her with his eyes. If push came to shove, the knife buried deep in her pocket was at least a last resort, either that or the little vial of menthol pain spray for after workouts. If that got in someone’s eyes, it was game over. Maybe it would be okay. Arturos had never really done wrong by her before.

‘Okay.’ Trassia surrendered to his logic and began the walk back. Arturos had already started walking before the words came out. They had only managed to go about fourty feet, so at least it wasn’t a long trip.

There was no gentleman or lady here. Arturos unlocked his car and climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving his cousin to walk around and climb into the passenger seat. Chivalry really was old and outdated. Either way, Arturos cranked the heat. This was nice.

A shape distorted the curtains in the house. Suddenly a text message pinged on Trassia’s phone: “Are you going in the car?” It was mom.

“Yeah. Too cold. I’ll be careful.” Trassia sent her reply and sat politely as they pulled out of the driveways and peeled out into the streets. The neighbours were going to hate him at this point.

Off they went, into the busy expanses of Devon. It was Arturos who started the conversation after a long, awkward pause. ‘So where is Murder Lane? You like, live in Hackney or something?’

‘Something like that,’ said Trassia.

That wasn’t good enough. ‘So where?’

Mom would want her to be strong. So would dad. ‘Um, I really don’t feel comfortable saying. You really don’t know me all that well.’

Arturos was silent, stalemated for at least a moment. It didn’t really take long for him to find a new subject. ‘So how’re you related to Travis?’

That was a good question. What had she told everyone else, was she her mom’s sister’s daughter or her cousin’s daughter? Keeping a story straight was hard. Had she even decided that? What would she say if George asked at work, or that pushy girl? Was she even going back? A long pause stole across the car’s interior.

‘Are your moms sisters or something or is it more like honourary family?’ He pressed again.

At last Trassia snapped to. ‘Sorry, I zoned out. Uh, sisters. Yeah.’

The man nodded. ‘Oh, okay. So you’re not nailing my cousin… are you?’ Serious eyes quickly glanced her way for a serious answer. This was unbelievable.

On a joking level, it was whatever. It could even be funny. Really though, the actual thought did its best to make her stomach churn like an egg beater. ‘No. I don’t like Travis like that.’

The car veered this way or that, just cruising as they talked. At least it was warm. ‘So what do you like?’ Arturos was determined to learn about her.

What did that mean? For breakfast? Dating? _Oh…_ an idea hit her. ‘Uh, girls.’ That was a good answer, that should repel him- unless he asked to watch or something. This just got worse and worse. Why was she even here? What was she doing?

‘Only girls?’ Arturos just kept prying.

Awkward unease settled in like a nest of rats, chewing their way through her insides. It was hard to lie. ‘Um… _mostly_ .’ Unease racked her young voice. _Crap._

‘You dating anyone?’

The world lagged out of focus as mild panic set in. Lying sucked, The truth sucked. The truth really sucked. The world sucked. He was making a play for it, now the pressure was on. Her own cousin was hitting on her. What were her options? Was she just going to text mom and beg for help? She could lie and say she was dating… that… girl. _Uh,_ what was her name? Coworker girl had to have a name. Telling an outright lie about a fictional person would fall apart immediately, she had a crap poker face. Was it Morgan? _No. Um._ What was it? Wendy? Kendall? _Crap._ How was this happening? Beads of sweat began to form on her brow. If this kept up she was going to sweat through her deodorant. Stress wasn’t fun. That woman had hugged her in the store and smelled like booze. Red hair, Welsh, _uh…_

‘I know lots of bisexual chicks. Couple of’em are into open relationships.’ Arturos was cool as a cucumber, whatever that bloody well meant.

The world was crashing down. Her own cousin was winding her up. There had to be something to say to fix this. Now that was bothering her too, what was Welsh girl’s name? Was it Madeline? Ashley? That sounded- _Ashe! Yes!_ For just a sweet second, dopamine masked all the fear and paranoia. At least Trassia had remembered. It was too bad that it was a filthy lie about a virtual stranger, though. Telling that would keep her up sick all night. Lies just didn’t work. They were wrong.

The world screamed in shades of danger when Arturos pulled into a supermarket parking lot and stopped the car. The urge to get out began to build.

‘We’re not related at all, that’s just bullshit,’ said the young man. _Nice language._

‘Uh.’ What could she say?

Arturos leaned a bit closer. ‘You wanna go out sometime?’

All mental functions shut down. **Red alert.** _Danger._ Will Robinson had fallen down the well and couldn’t fetch a pail of water. Her brain stopped working. She had what was effectively pepper spray, a knife, and her… wand, upstairs in her room because it was useless in the muggle world.

_Lies were bad…_

Arturos wasn’t backing off. The smell of his aftershave began to fill the air. ‘What kinda stuff you into? Movies? You vegan? I know a place. We could even go and-’

_Sorry, mom._ There was no mental process left anymore. Panic had eaten her neurons like Pac-Man. ‘I’m Travis!’

That stopped her cousin in his tracks. The man sat there wordlessly and blinked a few times, now as lost as Trassia. Soon enough he slid back and sat in the driver’s seat again, clasping the wheel with a death grip. ‘ _What?_ You’re not Travis.’ Once more he looked her over, all over. Prying eyes held no shame as Arturos danced his vision between her face and everything else, again and again.

Now her words did the stupid thing. ‘I’m Travis. I- I… I… you know how I go to the… _out,_ and I- I, wanted to feel normal like I was anybody-’

‘What?’ He stared hard and firm now at the dashboard. Then he shook his head. ‘You’re not Travis.’

‘I am! I am! I was… Travis.’ It was so hard not to hyperventilate. The words slipped out from behind a mask of hands clasped over her mouth. ‘I got a sex change! It’s why I was gone so long… and I… don’t know what to do, or- or what to say. I’m sorry. I- I just want to feel normal, I don’t like-’

There went that explanation. ‘So what,’ he said, cutting in. ‘You decided you had to become a woman? If you hate yourself, go get some protein shakes and work out, go get laid or something. Shit.’ Now he shrugged.

Before Trassia could even process that verbal slaughter, Arturos swung another aural punch. ‘Do your parents know?’

What kind of a question was that? ‘ _What?_ Of course they bloody know! They helped me through it! I’m their blasted daughter!’

‘Son.’

‘Daughter!’, she snapped. ‘I’ve been a woman all my life, Arturos! I’ve been in the wrong body! Okay!? This happens! I fixed it.’

All he supplied was a shrug. ‘This is bullshit. You’re not Travis. You don’t even look like him.’

He was kind of right. Now she looked a lot more like her mother. Gone were the strong cheekbones and the blue eyes. Her earlobes were suddenly attached instead of rounded. Right now there was no space for fear or doddering around her own words. This had become personal. ‘It’s called surgery, you ass! I got cosmetically changed to look like a woman!’ Screw the details, lie or not. It was all a muggle could process, so it was truth enough.

Once more the young man turned to face her. ‘So let me get this straight: You went to a hospital and told them to cut off your-’

‘More or less, yes.’

‘Gone. They _cut off_ your-’

Trassia nodded. ‘Yes, Artie, gone. They made a plug into a socket. That’s how it works.’

“Floored” was the correct word. Arturos had officially run out of objections. The only option left to him was to apparently fixate on his windshield. A two thousand yard stare distanced him from the world all around.

Trassia didn’t let up. ‘I’m happy this way! I don’t care if you think it’s natural or not, it’s who I am! I just made my body match what I feel like inside!’ I want this!’

At that Arturos shook his head. ‘But it’s not real. You’re still a man, you just look like a woman.’

‘No,’ Trassia objected vehemently. ‘I’m female. I decide who I am, not you, and not bloody Granger.’ Thankfully nobody asked or cared about that comment.

‘But you’re still a biological male.’

‘Am I!?’ Trassia shrugged this time. ‘I’ve always been female on the inside, Arturos! Always! Think about it! It’s why I’ve always been so out of place, and why I always feel miserable! I’m happy like this! It feels right! It’s just assholes that refuse to let me be myself that make me want to die!’

Two hands waved the conversation short. ‘This isn’t right, man. Look, you do whatever you want, but you… no, man, you’re not a woman. It’s just not real.’

She didn’t have to take this. Manners could be damned. ‘Fuck you.’ Without another moment, Trassia pushed open the car door and got out. Her hair was dry enough now, she could walk. So she did. The precious car door was slammed shut, hard. Off she went.

This was crap. Even her own family was dropping the hammer on her now. Hot tears fought the sting of the cold as they loosed themselves from her eyes, running down her cheeks. Hot, surging hurt turned her chest and stomach into aching knots. That was another person gone from her life.

Nobody even cared about what she was going through. They all just wanted people to be what they saw them as. Anyone different was always going to be wrong and evil for being strange. If it was uncomfortable, it got attacked and shut out. Trassia braced herself against the cold, wrapping her arms around her chest to fight the pain. It was lucky that her ribs could take the pressure.

It didn’t really matter what direction she walked anymore, as long as she was away from her stupid cousin. Was he even family? Dad said it was a choice they made. It didn’t mean that it had to include Arturos anymore. _Prat._

Trassia wandered over to a local park and sat down at a bench in the sun. It was lonely here this morning, which was perfect. The quiet, stern trees held no commentary or opinion. They only existed. Nobody was looking. Elbows on her knees, Trassia dropped her head into her hands and let the tears out.

Why was the world like this? There was nowhere she could be safe. She’d be dissected or arrested for impersonating someone in the muggle world and jailed for life in the wizarding world. _Wizarding._ Why did it have to be a male term?

What happened to real magic, anyway? Back in Salem, men and women were tried as witches. Some of the greatest fiction she ever read was about a little girl that was a wizard. Why did the magical world need to restrain it by terms? Wizards were astral masters, old and arcane, in touch with the stars and summoning lesser demons to give them occult wisdom, that was how the muggle history books remember them. They preferred cheap parlour tricks over real magic to get out of situations because it was easier and more responsible than relying on dangerous and unpredictable spells.

As for witches, they were tied to the ethereal. They were guardians of nature and knowers of the future. They protected the land and harmonised with Mother Earth and the moon. They no more harmed people than trees did. They were old soothsayers, wise men and women that looked like everyone else because they knew better than to let their ego get the better of them, unlike arrogant and inflated wizards. They were humble but smart, and a fountain of knowledge. _Geniuses._ Witches were persecuted for being too smart. Idiots and simpletons feared what they could do with their minds alone, not just with a wand or an incantation.

Then there were sorcerers and sorceresses. Mom had told her a lot about those. Sorcerers were powerful and direct. They were mighty spellcasters that used their titles and abilities for benefit, be it good or evil. They used runes, smoke, telling stones, and potions to divine or alter the future like mystics and masters of fate. They were the mighty villains duelling wizards atop the peaks of mountains for the destiny of the entire world. They thrived with magical artefacts and other trinkets that gave them more strength. Still, the good ones were very dangerous to cross. A good sorcerer had connections to other realms, realities, and demons that other classes of magician dared not dabble in. They were fearless in their pursuit to expand their mind by diving into the unknown. Technically by that standard, all the students in Hogwarts were being trained as sorcerers and sorceresses.

What happened to all of that? What happened to the days when a warlock was simply a term for any magic user that betrayed their collective and broke their oaths? What happened to her angry gender rights rant, too? Evidently there was a lot more bubbling under the surface than just her stupid cousin’s stupid opinions.

She had a point, though. The people that practiced magic had killed it. They channelled it so far into wands and science that all the real magic was dead. How many stories had she heard about witches and wizards that had done impossibly great magic before they were ten years old, and all without a wand? They could teleport- or “apparate” halfway across the country or turn houses inside-out. That one girl, Bethany Crolestaw, was playing outside in her yard with her toys at six years old when she got bored and made them turn into real, life-sized people, with feelings and sapience. Elves and goblins never needed wands.

It really was just a mental restraint. The wizarding world trained people to “do it right” at the cost of doing it well. One could do something more efficiently, but without any of the imagination necessary to do the impossible. That was what magic truly was down at its core, wasn’t it? It was a miracle. It literally defied the laws of physics and did the impossible. The great masters of the ancient ages did so many fantastic things that nobody these days could ever find in a school lesson or a book of spells. It wasn’t fair.

Suddenly she wasn’t alone. Her eyes didn’t unveil from the hands over her face. Sound hadn’t yet reached her ears. Something inside just knew she wasn’t alone. It was walking along the path behind the bushes. Soon it came into what would be sight range, still drawing closer. Then it sat down beside her on the bench. The wood depressed as proof, proving fact of instinct.

‘Go away,’ Trassia muttered through her hands.

A male voice replied calmly. ‘Your mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t drop you off safe at home.’

‘Good,’ snapped the girl.

Arturos sighed. ‘Look, I don’t know about any of this. It’s new to me. You wanna be a woman, fine. Go ahead. Not my business.’

_The nerve of this guy._ ‘You don’t believe it,’ Trassia replied.

A quiet moment followed. ‘No, I don’t. I don’t get how you can be born a man and pretend to be a woman. You’re just like those dudes in dresses, trying to be something they’re not. You just look like a woman. Doesn’t mean you are. But hey, if you wanna call yourself one, fine. I won’t argue.’

How much would it cost her in the long run to punch him right in the face? Trassia let loose a sigh and sat up. Eyes met, no compassion in-between. ‘If I’m not a woman, then we’re not family, Arturos.’

He shrugged at that. ‘Not the same thing.’

‘Yes it is,’ countered the girl. ‘If you had a sister and she married a man, he’d be your brother in-law. You’re not related but you’d be family.’

‘Kids would be, he wouldn’t.’

_Drat._ ‘And what if she never had kids? He’d still be family, and what about adopted children? They’re family. You can’t avoid that one.’

There was another shrug. ‘I guess.’

None of this was going anywhere, it wasn’t helping. ‘Look,’ Trassia asserted. ‘I’ve never been comfortable being a man, you know that. You must have sensed it.’

Arturos nodded at this. ‘I guess, yeah.’

‘I’ve always felt female inside. It’s just who I am. Maybe I didn’t get enough testosterone in the womb, or maybe my hormones are more female than male or something, but either way, I feel female. I’ve always been a woman, just in the wrong body. It’s not a perfect process and I’m willing to admit that, but it’s the best I have, okay? It’s not a perfect world. If I can get even a little bit closer to being who I am inside, why is it wrong? Tell me that.’

Her cousin sat in utter silence. Another shrug started his reply. ‘I guess it’s cause you’re still like a man. You just look like a woman.’

A retaliatory sigh sliced through that. ‘I know what it is. Guys want women and hate other guys because they’re competition. Look at how you acted around me when we both liked Samantha. You completely one-upped me and made me look bad so you could have her.’

‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

‘No, shut up,’ ordered Trassia. She wasn’t done talking. ‘You see guys as the enemy when all’s said and done. You’re straight, and you don’t want another dude’s junk near your own. After you found out it was me and I got a sex change, you look at me and you don’t see a woman anymore because I used to be a man. You just see a girl that stinks of penis, like how you shame slutty girls that sleep with a lot of guys. You just don’t want the feeling of another man around you.’

True silence set in as all words were stolen from Arturos. The young man pursed his lips in serious thought. After nearly a minute he nodded, just a little. ‘Actually, that’s… yeah. That’s kind of it.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘You hit the nail on the head.’

All the anger still seethed inside. The presence of a weak chuckle from her own throat frustratingly covered it all up. ‘You’re a dick.’

‘So are you,’ he replied, nudging her with his elbow.

Though she sighed and rolled her eyes, there was a smile. ‘You don’t have to understand or like it, just don’t attack me for it. Okay? It might not be one hundred percent, but it’s all science has to offer at the moment. I deserve a chance to be me.’

Artie nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. I see your point. Not gonna lie, I don’t get it,’ he said, waving it off, ‘but it’s your body… and I guess waking up in the morning and seeing a pair of jugs is pretty cool.’

Now she couldn’t hold back her laugh. ‘You pig! You- I mean. You’re right, it’s pretty cool, but you’re still an ass.’ Trassia playfully smacked his arm.

It was hard not to smile. Soon the pain had ebbed away like the falling tide. Half an hour passed as the two talked and reminisced. Beneath it all, they were still the same people. Nothing had really changed.

When the cold eventually set in, Trassia began to shiver once more. Again, she was forced to accept the sanctuary of the car. This time the air of tension was gone. Trassia leaned back in the passenger seat and shut the door.

Arturos turned on the heater and left the car in idle. ‘So why didn’t you tell me at breakfast? Why’s your mom covering for you?’

That wasn’t going to be easy to explain. ‘Nobody knows, and I don’t know how anyone will react. I haven’t told anyone because I’m afraid they’ll react like you did. Plus, if someone hates me, I might get beaten up or- or… worse.’

Arturos merely shrugged that off. ‘Kick their asses. Aren’t you like a taekwondo master or something?’

‘Taekkyon, with a touch of subak, and krav maga- but I lost a lot of body strength after the… surgery.’ _Good cover,_ gender reassignment surgery left people weak and helpless for a long time. ‘I’m still getting back into shape.’ Being a changer helped so much there. What muggle trans people had to go through was so much more unbearable. She was lucky. So many people would literally kill to have what she had.

The cousin shook his head. ‘Like riding a bike. You don’t forget, Daniel-san.’

Following a smirk, Trassia admitted to a soft laugh. ‘I can still kick your butt.’

Arturos smiled too. ‘Too much discipline. I get my exercise working on cars.’

Now it was time for a culture lesson. ‘And so you know, Mr. Miyagi was from Okinawa, not Korea, and Daniel was half Italian!’

The man only shook his head at that. ‘Same difference.’

She tried another approach. ‘Do you know what kids called me in boarding school? I’m Korean, right? A bunch of guys decided it would be funny to call me Egg Foo Young. That’s Chinese!’

Laughter seemed to be the theme of the hour. ‘That’s awesome,’ said Arturos, bucking his shoulders as he snickered.

‘That’s funny to you?’ Trassia shook her head dismissively. “You really are a jerk.’

He pulled out of the park’s parking lot at this point. ‘So you wanna go home?’

Trassia shook her head. ‘Not really, I just want to cruise around and take my mind off of things.’ Being out and back in reality helped far more than hiding indoors.

In a matter of seconds they were back on the road. More questions followed suit. ‘So where’s Okinawa?’, asked Arturos.

She technically knew that, this was cool. ‘Uh, it’s near Japan. It’s kind of part of Japan, but sort of independent. It’s the biggest of the Ryukyu islands, not that you know where that is, am I right?’

‘I know where Japan is,’ Arturos commented. More driving happened before he added anything else. ‘So what about those kids that bullied you, you ever fight them?’

He had to ask. A long, slow sigh betrayed Trassia’s reluctance. ‘Yeah, kind of.’

‘You win?’

There was no subtle way to answer this and retain her dignity. ‘No. They beat me up.’

Arturos glanced over. ‘What happened?’

Awkward eyes darted around for anything to change the subject to. They found no escape. ‘Uh… I was walking out of class one day and they were right behind me. They kept harassing me- there were five of them. I stood no chance. So they, normally when I get teased I just walk away and, so this time they were teasing me and trying to get a rise out of me. I was in a different… sort of… team, school team, and we’re considered the useless ones because we’re not cool or fancy. So-’

‘Get to the point man,’ insisted Arturos, voice layered with the flavour of impatience. He shook his head. ‘You really are Travis.’

Nobody was putting up with her today. ‘Okay! So uh, ah… yes.’ Where was she? Pressure didn’t help. He thought she sucked, this wasn’t going to be explained to any quality that she could justify. She was just a loser that got beaten up. ‘Do you even want to know?’

A commanding hand urged her along, winding in circles to issue a response. ‘You were walking out of class and five guys were messing with you.’ His eyes stayed on the road, thankfully.

‘So they followed me when I went out off school grounds to read for lunch, ‘cause I like to be alone. They started picking on me and I got sick of it, so I started talking back. They didn’t like that so they pulled out their… weapons. Like knives and stuff.’ _Close enough._ ‘I knocked the knife out of one guy’s hand and kicked him in the chest, and suddenly they all ganged up on me.’

‘You get stomped?’

At this she could proudly protest. ‘No. Actually, I disarmed them and we got into a big fist fight. I managed to break one guy’s arm and fracture another kid’s leg, and the one guy who was really messing with me got a broken collar bone and a sprained wrist, and he had a black eye where I roundhouse kicked him in the face. I knocked him out cold. That felt awesome. Then the other guys pinned me down and beat me up. They walked away- well, they limped and crawled away. I didn’t.’

Her cousin nodded. ‘Sounds like you gave ’em hell.’

‘I was fighting for my life, I didn’t have any choice.’

‘They mess with you after that?’ Arturos was persistent.

Any clear “yes” or “no” she gave here would be inaccurate. ‘Um. Well, they teased me when we were all laid up in the infirmary, but after that, they mostly left me alone after that unless they were in a group of four or more. Then they harassed me.’

He smiled, ‘Then you won, man.’

How could he say that? ‘No I didn’t. I got beaten up and they laughed at me.’

The back and forth of his noggin denied her this claim. ‘Nah. You kicked their asses, they’re afraid of you. Bet if you saw them in the street now they wouldn’t say anything.’ Arturos looked over her way. ‘That means you won. You don’t have to take the least punches to win the war.’

If she was in her Trassia form, they wouldn’t even know to recognise her in the first place, which was probably for the best. ‘It doesn’t feel like I won anything.’

The dark-skinned fellow sighed impatiently. ‘You got your surgery even though you say people are gonna make fun of you. If you got put through hell for it, why do it? You stood up to me and told me to go fuck myself when I didn’t believe you. You’re a fighter. You’re never gonna stop getting bullied, so either fight back or shut up. You kicked their asses and made them fear you. They’re afraid for their lives to tangle with you in case you kill them. Violence doesn’t make right, but when you have to fight back, you have to fight back. The main thing is: Don’t let people bully you, okay? You got rights, stand up for them. Your mom and dad taught you better than to give up.’

Later on down the line that would have some repercussions, but right now it sounded reasonable. He was right. Why was she letting people push her around? It was her life, she had to stop running. Where could she go when she was backed into a corner? She broke Keith Hardnell’s collar bone with the palm of her hand. He never fought her again. Maybe there was something to this.

‘You’re right,’ admitted Trassia.

Arturos slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. ‘Damn right I’m right! I don’t get what you’re going through, but you’re family, so whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Just so you know.’

A little sliver of dread died off. A glimmer of hope surged deep inside. Now came more stupid tears.

Now also came a vehicle in the wrong lane. The world slowed to a crawl under the raw surge of adrenaline. Everything was nearly still. A red sports car pulled out of a side road far too fast and accelerated right toward the two teens. It wasn’t slowing down. An older driver typed away on his cellphone.

It was funny how fast a world could change. Futures flashed before her mind’s eye. Days ahead would see them in the hospital. A broken arm and a concussion would be the least of her troubles. Months later would see Arturos in a wheelchair. It would never change as time went on. The future was cruel.

It was also a maybe.

Instinct didn’t care about the rules. Nothing mattered but surviving. The memory of a wand remained. Trassia reached out with an open palm. That car had to stop, now. The rules could be damned,

Magic was real if she wanted it to be. The whole world around them saw as the sports car hit a sudden stop and went vertical. As if it were a bicycle with a stick in the spoke, the back end went into the air and hung there. Thankfully Arturos hit the brakes in time to avoid a collision. Over in the sports car, the driver hit the windshield, hard. His cellphone cracked the glass. After a few seconds the car slowly tipped back and slammed down onto the ground on its wheels, sending the driver snapping back over the steering wheel and into his seat. He didn’t move, lying there, limp.

The world hung waiting in suspense.

Arturos however did not. The young man immediately shook his head. ‘Screw this noise.’ The car was thrown into reverse in a blinding hurry before peeling out in a random direction.

None of this was processing. Trassia fought to find any words at all for nearly a minute. ‘Arturos, we- we need to go back. That… he- he did- didn’t lo- he didn’t- didn’t look okay. He… is he okay? W-w-w-we need to go check.’ Her jaw hung agape.

‘Nope. We didn’t do anything, we don’t have to be there.’ Arturos pressed the speed limit as he got as far away as possible. He wasn’t going back.

The two drove on until they reached the other end of town in another quiet parking lot. Arturos kept the engine running. ‘Shit man, that was insane. You see that guy pull a ninety degree stop? Did his back suspension blow up or something?’

Trassia objected with a shake of her head. ‘He didn’t look okay.’

‘I don’t feel okay,’ contested Arturos irritably. ‘What was that, you see that? He must’ve hit a rock and… and almost flipped, I dunno. I’ve literally never seen that before. That was badass.’

No it wasn’t. ‘I hope he’s not dead. Oh… I- I can’t deal with this. I can’t have killed someone.’

Arturos rebuffed that immediately. ‘You did nothin’, he almost flipped his car and he damn well nearly hit us.’

He didn’t understand. ‘No, I- I… feel responsible.’ There was no way to explain. There would never be a way to explain this. It was now that the realisation hit: That was magic. She’d done magic in the muggle world, with the Fix still active. Was it active? How else could she have done that?

She’d done magic in front of muggles. If someone recorded that or got their license plate, she was dead in Azkaban. Now it was suddenly a really good thing that Artie noped out of that situation at light speed.

This was the day for shaken-not-stirred as Arturos objected physically with the turning of his cranial sector. ‘This is a weird day.’ Then he turned his attention to the rattled girl to his right. Having a car with the driver’s seat on the wrong side made orientation a bit queer. ‘Hey, your parents got any alcohol? I need a drink.’

Realistically, it beat getting drunk and then driving back. She needed to check on that man, though- but she couldn’t go back. She could never be seen around him. Perpetrators often return to evaluate the situation. If an auror was sent to check, she’d be noticed, especially with her jacket and hair. ‘I… think they do.’ Maybe she could use a drink too. Today just took a hard left turn right off a cliff.

What had she done? The thought echoed in her brain again and again without escape. There was nowhere for it to go. What would she do if they could track her? They would inevitably find her. Harry Potter’s wizard police would come to snap her wand and throw her in jail forever. Home felt like the best place to hide right now. Maybe getting drunk was a good idea after all.

It was no less than “soon” before she was back in the driveway, with a familiar face peeking out through the curtain for a sliver of a second. It was time to go and hide indoors.

No sooner had Trassia pushed the doors open and hung up her coat that mom’s prying gaze burned holes through the wall and around corners. Arturos unfortunately followed her to the kitchen, where her mother waited. Both the two sat down at the table as Jin-joo crossed her arms and watched, leaning on the counter. ‘Is everything okay?’

Ever the eloquent one, Arturos made his presence known. ‘You got any Korean alcohol or anything? Maybe a whiskey?’

Mother twitched an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

Trassia subtly motioned with her wand hand. ‘There was a… car accident… of sorts.’

The lingering gaze of Jin-joo only intensified.


	11. Defective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After facing some time and privacy at home, Trassia's new incident raises a lot more flags than it should. Stress and pressure are heavy weights on anyone, especially when the cards are already against her.

Trassia pursed her lips, barring the river of errant thoughts and quips until the pool formed coherent, logical sentences. It took a good minute. Every awkward second reinforced Jin-joo’s pursed, sour stare digging into Trassia and Arturos. This had better be good.

It wasn’t, maybe. Artie cut in, brushing off his face with both hands and a sigh. ‘So we were just cruising along an’ this guy pulled out of nowhere- I had the right-of-way- an nearly ffff- frrrr- ferociously hits us, like totally savage.’ That verbal near-miss was more like a sideswipe with paint damage in the eyes of Trassia’s mother. ‘He missed, but he like… went up in the air like his car was doin’ a handstand. Weird stuff.’

None of that even mattered. Jin-joo bore through the teenage girl with her eyes. ‘You’re not hurt?’

‘No,’ said Trassia.

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ added Arturos.

None of that mattered, a car was a car. Mother filed that away without a moment’s notice. A penetrating glare sawed right through Trassia’s defences. One sentence played in mother’s eyes like a drive-in cinema screen: _“What happened between you and Arturos?”_

Trassia gave a little shake of her head. _“Nothing at all.”_

_“I’m not sure.”_

The teen stood her ground. _“I promise. We didn’t do anything.”_

Mother was thus appeased. She laid off. ‘Odd circumstances, hm?’ Her eyes still lingered on her daughter.

Now came the suspicion. Trassia nodded. ‘Yeah, it was really uh… weird.’ Her grimace said it all. This wasn’t muggle affairs they were discussing.

Immediately the atmosphere took a hard left turn into a new district of conversation. Jin-joo grabbed a can of something carbonated and put it on the table for the boy. ‘You’re driving, no alcohol for you.’ She then summoned Trassia out of the room and out the back, into the hallway and over to the parents’ bedroom. As soon as the door was closed behind them Jin-joo stared down her child. ‘What happened? Did you see the ministry do something?’

This was going to be awkward. Mom wouldn’t turn her in, but this wasn’t going to be pretty to explain. There had to be a logical angle. ‘Maybe… maybe… I mean,’ began the teen, ‘I- maybe the Fix was down for something- or something.’ Every ministry agent in Britain would be on her tail in an hour. They would come and kill her. They- prison, they would throw her in prison for life. Death. _Death._

One stupid, stupid accident, it was all it took. ‘I did it. I don’t know how, I-’

Mom’s hands calmed the shaking, taking Trassia’s in her own. ‘Calm down, baby. What happened? Take a breath, be calm. Think of meditation.’ Mom brushed the errant bangs away from her daughter’s face.

Calm, okay. It wasn’t working, but okay. They would come to arrest her forever. This much she knew, it wasn’t just an “oops” for magic cast outside the Fix, this was aurors with heavy spells, coming and kicking down the door. ‘I didn’t have my wand, and I’m a changer. I- I… I’m dead. It was an accident and-’

‘Calm, my baby.’ Jin-joo pulled her into a hug. ‘Deep breaths.’

‘I just put my h-h-hand out and… he- he could have died. Like, whiplash, the-at… driver. He uh, I- ah, I- I might have killed him.’

Mom was too good at translating this verbal garbage. ‘A man pulled out in front of you and almost hit you, so you accidentally used magic and stopped it. The driver might be hurt.’ It was just so matter-of-factly, how could she be so calm?

Trassia’s only option was to nod.

Jin-joo processed the whole dilemma in silent deliberation. It took a minute before she could react accordingly. ‘You’re sure you used magic?’

The reply was a nod.

Mother bit her lip. So many variables flashed through her eyes. It all sank in with a deep, long sigh. This was sticky.

It really was becoming easier and easier to just walk away from magic forever. Could she, though? Magic seemed pretty intent on not walking away from Trassia. As mom would say, it was in her soul.

There was no rational thought process behind her reasoning anymore. There was only a wounded animal hiding in a corner. ‘Mom… can I move back home?’

Hesitation was for the weak. Jin-joo immediately nodded, sweeping the girl up into a hug. ‘Of course, my baby.’

Wait. Wait. Any comfort that could have been extracted from this moment of solitude quickly blew away like sand in the wind. They would find her here. There was no way she wasn’t on someone’s radar. They knew that Travis Noble lived here. Sure, there were a lot of witches and wizards hiding in the muggle world these days. There’d been at least a dozen from Devon alone she’d run into at Hogwarts. They would find her eventually.

As Trassia. She-

No, okay. She could maybe live as Travis forever and give up on being her real self, maybe. Could she? How long would it be before she jumped off a tall building from the stress? There was no way she could be safe living here. What would she do, drag her family down with her? Maybe she was better off going back to Magical London and hiding there, away from here, where they would be looking. But- but they were looking for a woman, like her. She was in the car. This was- no- but-

Jin-joo pressed tighter as Trassia’s lungs worked overtime, hyperventilating. ‘My baby, shh, shh, calm down. It’s going to be okay. My darling girl, calm, shh.’

She was dead. She was dead. It was over. There was no damned Travis, there never would be. There wasn’t allowed to be a Trassia. Nowhere was safe. This wasn’t real. She was sentenced to oblivion for being born. Magic. It made this happen.

Everything spun in circles like a tilt-o-whirl. Panic unlocked the adrenal drive. Trassia broke free of the embrace and bolted for the door. Arturos stood up from his seat at the kitchen table as his cousin raced past toward the stairs. A drunken thump and a slam said Trassia didn’t make it up on two legs

Wand, wallet, anything else immediate, she had to go. She wasn’t safe here. Mom wasn’t safe with her here. This was so wrong, she should never have come home. This only made everything worse.

Downstairs another scuffle broke out. ‘I didn’t touch her, I swear!’, came the voice of Arturos.

This was a nightmare. There was no way she was going back down there. Climbing out the window it was, along with sliding down the slippery roof and accidentally falling to the lawn with an awkward stunt roll. She had to go, anywhere. The marathon sprint began.

Somewhere in the primordial recesses of her brain, something was still reacting to survival instincts. The aurors would be combing the neighbourhood to find out what the source of the magic was that went off. Getting away from this whole area was the best option she could manage. There was some money in her wallet, she could probably afford a train ticket back to London. It would be easier to blend in- no a taxi would be better.

Already her phone was pinging. That would be mom trying to find out where she’s going. The world was still spinning too hard to stop moving and reply. All her energy went into not accidentally falling over or veering onto the road.

How did she do it? Was The Fix malfunctioning? Could that happen? Was this something to do with her being a changer? Why did this never happen before? She’d used her wand plenty of times in the muggle world, hadn’t she? She definitely did. She only stopped when… when… the first year of Hogwarts had beaten it into her head that she’d never be able to cast magic at home, so she just packed her wand away and never bothered using it. That was right, she’d been so angry and gave up immediately.

Everything was still swimming inside her brain. The running had to stop when her stamina finally gave out on the girl, eventually leaving Trassia to collapse onto a park bench. Suppressing the urge to throw up also took some willpower. One mistake was literally enough to put her in Azkaban forever. She was a changer that broke The Fix. She was dead.

Was it only wands that were broken? Did it not affect wild magic? How did The Fix really work? There were never reports of it being superseded or outfoxed. Thoughts began to return little by little, some of them even skirting the fringes of nascent logic. She was eighteen, the trace on her that tracked underage magic was broken, so there was no way she could normally be found for that. They’d get her for the use of magic in front of muggles. That set alarms off everywhere, or so she’d heard. If it did then there would be aurors looking around for the source and checking social media for any clues. If they tracked it to Arturos’ car then she was in trouble.

Dad had done some research of his own. The minister for magic had ties to the muggle government. They could pull strings and check affiliations of people. If that happened, they would eventually track it back to her- maybe. Probably.

This needed testing. Trassia had her wand. The girl steadied herself up off the bench, knees like jelly, and stood up, glancing around. There were a few remote areas around, like behind buildings. It was a reasonably quiet area she’d run off to in her blind panic.

A nearby alley looked fine, under a canopy. There were no magic-ruining cameras. On the random chance that a satellite image detected her, at least her wand and the spell effects would be hidden. There was a sliver of safety.

Trassia fished through her pockets and fished out an old receipt. It would do. Watching the kids in school had taught her that she could set garbage cans and dumpsters on fire with the incendio spell. A receipt would go up like nothing, and it was quiet. If anyone poked around, she could just say she was playing with a lighter.

Despite the possible chance that this would instantly summon the authorities, she had to try. Actually, she didn’t. This was stupid. Hysterical logic still told her brain to do it anyway, so she did.

_‘Incendio,’_ she mouthed, barely even a breath at all. The paper immediately twisted and burned into ash in her exposed and vulnerable palm, like the stupid idiot she was. That hurt. Ashes blew away as she shook her hand like a cat.

It worked. Cold leaked down her spine like ice water. This was real.

A second thought rang out in her father’s voice. Evidence was everything. Police could get DNA off of skin flakes and find clues on fragments of paper. So far nobody had seen the first spell, but magic could be traced.

_‘Accio ashes,’_ Trassia whispered. Then there they were, in her hand. Those were getting stuffed into her pocket. It was better than leaving them there.

As soon as that was done, she was off and away to nowhere in particular. There were so many people every day, she just had to be inconspicuous, just keep walking. Have somewhere to be. Once more her phone beeped.

What kind of a day was this? What kind of a life was this? Trassia grabbed her music player and put in her earphones. This required music.

A slew of texts lit up her phone display.

“Where are you going?” - Mom

“Please call me.” - Mom

One missed call - Mom

“Where are you?” - Arturos

“Please come back.” - Mom

What would mom say? More than ever, a headache set in good and hard, like a hammer to the skull. It was real, she could break The Fix. The urge to throw up rolled back up on her.

I never asked for this.

She had to call mom. Maybe she was a baby, but it was only going to make it worse to go rogue. Pressure under her jaw said vomit was on its way. Of all times, mother saved her the trouble of dialling. The phone rang before the girl could press a button.

Her fingers conspired to accidentally-on-purpose pick up the call. The rest was automatic. ‘Hello.’

‘Trassia? Where are you?’ Worrying enwrapped Jin-joo’s tone like tinfoil.

‘Uh… I’ll check.’ That was a good question. Trassia glanced around. It wasn’t like she wasn’t fairly knowledgeable of the area. She’d lived in Devon pretty much all her life. Nothing was too far out of her range of recall here. ‘By the, uh, vet clinic place. The thing.’ All energy drained from her voice like a missing stopper.

‘Arturos is on his way.’ The hushed sound of mom waving him out the door was not undetected.

Somehow, all of this had to be explained, and not over the phone. It couldn’t be at home, though. ‘Mom, I-’

‘What is it? Are you okay?’

‘I feel sick. Mom… the thing that happened, it… it happened again. Another accident. Nothing fatal or anything, just a test, to see.’

Silence reigned as sovereign. Seconds ticked into a complete moment. ‘Are you sure?’, the mother said at last.

‘Maybe it’s broken. The… yeah. Maybe.’

Another bout of quiet stretched on. ‘No, baby.’ Now came another chill. ‘I tried.’

Suddenly as it opened up, the world shut down. Understanding hit like a truck. No words would come out. Trassia’s brain emptied of all thoughts.

‘Come home, sweetie. We’ll figure this out.’ Under all that concern, a little sliver of pleading shone through Jin-joo’s gentle tone.

‘No, mom. I can’t.’ It wasn’t safe. ‘I- I… doesn’t was the thing. Going.’ Words started to shut down. ‘As I’s is… is-is-is the doesn’t suf- nah. Can barely stand. Almost fell over. Feel drunk. Not- not booze, drinking. Not. Mph! Stupid!’ This ridiculous heap of disgusting flesh was a witch? Was she a wizard after all? Maybe this was being a changer. Maybe she was born broken. Granger could be right.

It all made more sense to the other end of the line. ‘You’re having a panic attack. Baby, sit down and breathe. Get away from people. Arturos is on his way, he can pick you up and you can get something to eat. Go pick up some cheesecake, you like that.’

Mom was so much better at being a witch, and a human. Trassia was just some stupid idiot, a loser. She was hideous. She- how could she ever be a real woman? It was impossible to stop the tears. The floodgates broke. Trassia began to bawl miserably. She would never be good enough. She couldn’t talk, or use magic right, or pay attention, or even be a real woman, or even a man. She was too awkward to ever have real friends. Now she was destined to die in prison, for all of an accident of birth. High-pitched squeals cut through the sobbing as her voice cracked.

‘Trassia-’

‘Mom, I’m so sorry. I ruined your life. I should never have been born. I hate myself so much. I’m a waste of space and I can’t do anything right. I’m so sorry. You deserve a better daughter.’

‘You’re beautiful, my baby. Don’t-’

It was over. Several seconds passed before Trassia noticed her palm had hit the hang up button. She even screwed that up. Mom called back immediately.

‘Trassia, please stay on the line. Talk to me.’ Panic strangled Jin-joo’s voice.

Everything was gibberish. Nothing sensible came out at all. Back and forth the mother and daughter went, exchanging nothings until an engine rumbled onto the scene. Arturos hopped out and ran over.

‘Hey, what happened?’ Strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Get in the car.’

‘I can’t,’ Trassia finally sputtered out. ‘I need to go away.’

Enough was enough. One tug pulled the girl toward the vehicle. ‘Get in,’ ordered Arturos. Despite the tears, Trassia feebly did as told, wobbling and shivering as she sat down in the passenger seat. He wrested the phone from her hands and put it to his head. ‘She’s in the car. Yeah, she’s completely freaking out. Okay, yeah. Yeah. See you soon.’ He then hung up. The phone made its way back into Trassia’s mitts.

The car wasn’t moved. Arturos turned and locked eyes. ‘What happened? You’re acting psycho.’

If she talked to Artie about any of this, they would come for her. They’d still be looking for the car, maybe. One muggle sighting can set off alarms. There’d been about five people around. She had to shut up.

Too bad her brain had other plans. ‘I don’t want to go to jail.’

Arturos sighed irritably. ‘It was a traffic accident, you’re fine. Stop being insane.’

‘No, no, no no no no no. I’m in trouble.’

‘It was an accident, damn it!’ He pounded the wheel. ‘If anything it was my fucking fault more than yours, I was driving! And it wasn’t my fault, it was the other driver! God damn it, just calm down.’ Bile seethed in those words.

‘I’m in trouble for way more than that,’ said Trassia, burying herself even deeper.

Artie shook his head confusedly, now lost. ‘What?’

The shaking wouldn’t stop. Trassia shivered in pain. ‘I can’t say,’ the girl whined. Her voice was too weak. ‘I’ll get you in trouble if I do.’

He only shrugged. ‘Okay. Fine, you’re in trouble. What’d you do, stab someone?’

Trassia shook her head feebly. ‘I can’t tell you.’

That was that. ‘Fine. Are the police looking for you?’

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

Arturos cursed under his breath. ‘Is that why you got a sex change?’

Once more Trassia shook her head.

‘Okay.’ That too was dropped. ‘So we can’t go past the police station. Fine. I’ve avoided the cops before.’ There was no hesitation as he reached into his glove box and pulled out a black baseball cap. ‘Put this on, don’t look around.’ Now at last he started driving.

Nobody else was talking, so Arturos again led the conversation. ‘Did you do what you’re in trouble for?’

Trassia shrugged. “No… yeah… not really.’

‘What, like an accident?’ That was closer.

‘More like a stupid rule it’s impossible not to break and… agh, I- it’s so stupid.’

Artie only nodded. ‘Yeah, been there. Some stupid rules out there. Look, you’ll be fine. You’re smart. Your mom an’ dad are smart. You’ll work around it. If your dad can avoid a murder charge, you’ll be fine.’

Something there did not click. ‘Wait, what?’ For just a moment, Trassia forgot everything else. ‘My dad- what? Oh yeah, he said that. But it was overturned, right?’

Arturos stifled a laugh. ‘Your dad was convicted and sentenced for a quadruple homicide.’

This did not feel correct. ‘Yeah, but he got cleared. He got himself out after a few years. He said he met a guy in there with a life sentence and he-’

The boy belted out a laugh. ‘Yeah and no,’ replied her cousin, suddenly stone-faced as he drove.

‘Okay, explain,’ demanded Trassia. This reeked of a lie. All her energy was still drained. On its own, her head leaned against the glass while the girl went slack. It took a lot not to vomit, even now. Dizziness felt a lot like mild carsickness.

‘Your dad sold drugs, yeah, but he got arrested for killing four people. If he only sold drugs, he’d be in a camp or a low. You get life sentences in high security prisons for shit like murder.’

She had been through this already. ‘My dad is not a murderer.’

Artie shook his head. ‘Let me explain. He got _arrested_ for murder, okay? Doesn’t mean he did it. Three of the guys our dads knew when they were in a gang got into some trouble with people they were selling drugs to an’ killed them over not getting paid. Your dad was having trouble with those guys ‘cause they were nuts, an’ so when the police caught on about the killings, they planted fake evidence and framed your dad. He sold drugs, yeah, but he got arrested and convicted for multiple homicides. He was going away for life.’

None of this was real. _Holy crap._ Trassia stared at the dashboard, unmoving. ‘What happened?’

‘My dad found out about what they did an’ left the gang. He helped overturn your dad’s sentence and get him out. It was years, but he got him out. They were friends back then too. That’s why they’re still friends. It’s why we’re family. Your dad meant more to my dad than those assholes, and he literally risked his life for it.’

How was this even a possibility? ‘Dad never told me about that. I mean, I never really asked about the details, it felt rude to annoy him by asking too many questions.’

‘Then he taught you right,’ retorted her cousin. ‘Part of that life, whether you're in it or not, is never talking about what you see or hear or do. Don’t ask questions and don’t be a rat. Rule number one: You don’t talk about stuff that could permanently ruin your reputation.’ Artie waved it off. ‘Look, I’ve broken some laws too. You need advice, just ask. I mean, dude, you’re weird, but I’m not gonna hang you out to dry. Whatever you got mixed up in, make sure you don’t leave evidence. No fingerprints, no photos. Can you manage that?’

‘Yeah, uh… yeah.’ So far she was theoretically in the clear, maybe.

‘Does anyone know you did it? Any witnesses?’

Confessing even indirectly felt wrong. ‘Uh, I don’t think they even know I was there.’

‘You weren’t. You lay low and if anybody asks, you don’t know shit. You got me? Now if you start having panic attacks and pulling parkour out the second floor window, someone’s gonna start asking questions. _You. Did. Nothing._ Believe it, sell it.’ Hard eye contact stared the girl down.

Trassia nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Say it.’

It felt wrong. This already turned cold and sour in the pit of her stomach. ‘I did nothing,’ repeated the girl with a sliver of caution.

‘Good.’ Arturos sighed and shook his head wearily. ‘Now let’s get you home. Where were you even going?’

That was another good question she had no clear answer for. ‘Um-huck, I don’t know.’

Artie almost laughed. ‘Amateur. If you get in trouble, you gotta have escape plans an’ somewhere to go. People get caught because they don’t plan. You don’t plan, you panic an’ go nuts at the first sign of trouble. You never think things through, man.’

None of that was a lie. ‘Yeah. I don’t really know how-huck to plan. I get ninety-five percent through something and that’s as far as I get.’

‘Yeah, well, you got zero percent this time. Think, man!’

More stress was not the answer she was looking for. It only made her curl up tight into a ball. The entire right side of her head was pounding, especially over her temple.

After what felt like an hour-long car ride, they arrived back at her little home back in the suburbs. Somewhere between her last talk and now, hiccups had set in. Trassia was a mess. The girl fixed her hair and makeup before getting out of the car.

Arturos had one more little tidbit of knowledge to bestow before she exited. ‘Hey.’ Sombre tones stole attention with force. ‘Look, sorry if I yelled at you. You’re goin’ through a lot, I know. If you get in trouble an’ you can’t come to your parents, just call me, okay? I won’t ask, I won’t tell you what to do, I’ll just have your back. We’re family, okay? We’re tight.’

It was so hard not to cry now. Tingling heat stung behind her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

Nothing was free. ‘But man, I gotta say: If I didn’t know by now, I would’ve figured out you’re still Travis, ‘cause _god damn_ , you’re neurotic.’ At least this time he smiled.

Like the sun through thunderclouds, a laugh smashed her reverie. ‘I’d make a lousy criminal.’ Trassia wiped a tear from her face. ‘I’m just a mess.’

Arturos agreed. ‘You are. I dunno what it’s like wanting to be a different gender. I mean, if you really feel like you need to be a woman, I guess it’d mess with you, growing up as a man. Prob’ly mess me up, too.’ Then he reverted to type. ‘I guess it’d be pretty cool to wake up and see boobs every time you look in the mirror, hey? That part sounds cool.’

_Fine, whatever._ ‘Yeah. I like that part. When I first started fronting as female, I spent a lot of time naked in front of the-huck mirror. It… well, more than anything, it felt so much more real, like I was finally in the right body. Pic- okay, you know how we saw that horror movie about that guy who got his body stolen and then the killer went around murd-huck- murdering people as him? That’s what it feels like. I was trapped in the wrong body and it’s like you know the real you is out there, but you’re just not allowed to have it, like life stole your body from you.’

Realisation may have struck. Arturos nodded a little. ‘Okay, yeah. I get that.’

‘And then when he got his body back in the end and got sent to prison, that… that’s pretty honestly what it’s like for me when I transitioned. It was like I was wrong to everyone else in the world. I’m pretty much ostracised for… my body. And now I have to worry just a little every day about creepy guys, and kidnapping, and someone putting something in my drink. It’s a nightmare.’

Arturos concurred. ‘Yeah, women are targets. To be honest, I’m always gonna see you as a dude. No offence, man, but I grew up with you. You’re like a brother to me.’

‘You too,’ said Trassia. Somehow that helped. ‘Are you staying for dinner?’

His reaction said that was a stupid question. ‘Of course I am.’

The hiccups were ebbing off. ‘Do you wanna play video games later?’

‘Sure. I have time to kick your ass.’

Sadly, he probably would. The man was just instinctually better at them. ‘Then maybe later you can help me spar and I can kick your ass.’

He could only laugh. ‘How ‘bout nah. I’ll pass, thanks. I’m just here for dinner.’

‘Lazy,’ Trassia teased.

It was time to face her mother, though. This wasn’t going to be fun to explain. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say to mom. I asked to come back home. I can’t take this.’

‘Stop. What?’ Arturos pulled her back into the car as she opened the door. ‘You’re what? What, like, you’re giving up?’

Well, yes? ‘Trassia shrugged. ‘I can’t make it out there. I messed up-’

‘Don’t move back home,’ ordered her cousin. ‘Your mom’s nice, but you’ll go insane. You’ll never stop giving up if you don’t stop running away.’

‘I just don’t know if I have the strength.’

‘Find it. Now come on, go in there an’ stop hiding. An’ give me my hat back.’ Arturos snatched it clean off her head. ‘Get out of my car.’ That was that. She had been forcibly evicted from his vehicle. A shoe to the posterior ensured her prompt departure.

‘Hey, you’re gonna scuff my jacket! This was expensive!’ Out she went, wobbly as an inflatable punching clown, onto the driveway. Everything was still fresh. Her body wasn’t having any of this rapid adjustment nonsense. Slow and unsteady was the only way to go, step by step.

What did they have on her? How many hundreds of witches and wizards lived in the muggle world, honestly? If she wasn’t the only one, maybe there were others around, hiding in plain sight, planning their next crime or just keeping to their own discreet lives. What did she really have to find? She was a woman now, inside and out. Travis was dead. Mom was right, they had nothing on her, no matter how they tried.

All she had to do was convince her stomach this was true. The few contents of her stomach did their best to curdle when the door opened a second before her hesitant hand could grab the handle.

Brown eyes scoured the scene. Jin-joo looked the two over, both Trassia and Arturos, then parted the doorway enough to let them in. The tension had lifted from her cousin as he passed her mother. That glare of suspicion was gone.

‘I got her, safe an’ sound,’ said Arturos. He went right on in, this time heading for the living room and television. A minute later the sound could be heard of him setting up their old Super Nintendo.

Mom stopped Trassia at the door, closing it behind her. There was no escaping a hug. ‘You had me in a panic.’ Her subtle perfume filled the air.

‘I’m sorry, mom.’ Trassia hugged back. This had already been a long week.

‘When you hung up I thought you were going to kill yourself.’

It probably did sound like that. ‘My stupid hand slipped, it was an accident.’

Mom wasn’t letting go. ‘Don’t ever scare me like that again. I was ready to call the police and have them find you.’ That was no light statement to make.

‘I think I have to go back to London,’ said Trassia. The words just fell out. Censorship and reasoning hadn’t resumed entirely yet.

What may very well have been a superior, functioning brain instantly rebutted this. ‘Quiet,’ commanded Jin-joo. No choices now, just sit down. Have some tea. Think later.’

Trassia was escorted to the living room to sit beside her cousin. Both grabbed a controller and took a seat on the couch. Mom was right. The magical world wasn’t anything she needed to dwell on. This had been her second breakdown in two days. She seriously needed to stop thinking about this. Home was safe. It had to be.

* * *

Night was always more serene than the day. All of the cars settled. The people calmed and stilled into sleep. The world was quiet for once. The beautiful blue of the inverted ocean above twinkled with lights of a thousand, maybe a hundred million untouched worlds. From her bed, she stared out at the infinite.

How far did magic reach? What could it do in space? Was it confined to Earth, a product somehow derived from the endless imagination of the heart, brought to being like a spectral force? Did it echo out from within, created by the very beings that cast it?

Maybe it was as transfinite as the cosmos itself, existing more as some sort of underlying layer of dark energy? Was it affected by black holes and the space-time pull of gravity? Never could she believe in the superstition of a god or gods, so the universe had to have some sort of backing to it. There had to be, in some form, something that created the first something- another yesterday. If the universe expanded infinitely out into nothingness, then it had to expand into, scientists say, nothingness. That was a logical contradiction in terms as nothingness incarnate would realistically lack enough of a substance to act as a canvas upon which matter and energy could subsist. It had to come from somewhere.

Was all life magic in of itself? Was the world a dream? A restless mind yearned desperately to know. What was magic? Why could it act as a material energetic substance in the stead of something so scientific as electricity? Muggle appliances worked as long as they were fuelled by magic instead of electricity. That suggested a substance of being. It had properties that attacked and interfered with the laws of known physics. Could it violate the law of conservation of energy or was it the foundation of it?

If it had substance, it ultimately had science, and laws of realistic operation its properties functioned on and by. Even if the science was new, it was still there. It had to be that magic was either a force of nature in the world that could be tapped into by the right genetic and energetic harmony, or it was truly a force of ancient wonder not held accountable to science, and these applied energies observed were only a byproduct. If that was true, then it wasn’t true magic. It was just different.

True magic- nobody cared for it. The concept alone was too great and mystical to truly comprehend, let alone command. It would be godly in its might, a magnanimous terror of infinite capacity capable of literally rewriting the rules of reality itself. Nobody believed in that, at least anymore. How funny it was: That was in concept closer to a faith, but the practice was more religious than any man may truly admit to.

Hogwarts claimed to be polytheistic, as did most parts of the European wizarding world. It accepted almost all beliefs, even those without. It never once though admitted the inherent superstitious science it devoted to understanding “magic” in all forms.

Magic could do this. Magic would never do that. Magic was capable of achieving these. It was impossible to make magic do those. Magic was deserved for them, but not for those others. Practice this formula and recite this incantation while blessed by the gift, and the mundane would bow and peel away to reveal the fantastic. How was that not the exact structure and all the tenets of a religious order? They make magic sound like an undiscovered form of energy. Who knows, too? Maybe it was generated by the Earth itself and the rotation of its iron core, some sort of magnetic field bending physics like gravity and inertial force bend time. That made some sense. It wasn’t real magic then, in that case, it was just a fluke.

In the heart of the colossal “maybe” came a deeper question, rooted far down into the heart of the matter as a whole: If that was true, then what was real magic? Was the car accident real? The wildest magic always had the most fantastic results. Nobody honed it. Nobody told it what to do. It was wild and free. It was unchecked, not tied down and told what to do in careful, filtered proportions.

Trassia sighed and cracked a smirk. She was beginning to sound more and more like dad. Her clock said it was 1:22 in the morning. Everyone else had better have been asleep at that point. Arturos had gone home. He didn’t have her bedroom to stay in overnight.

Eventually it called again. Despite all warnings and urges, her eyes betrayed her, veering their sights toward her bedside table, and the fancy little wooden stick laying atop it.

There was no denying facts: Trassia had grown up in the muggle world. She was raised in muggle fashion by a muggle father and a magical mother that lived a muggle life. Magic was rare, it was alien. It was a treat untouched by mortal hands. There might have been magic in her blood, but truth was truth. She was a muggle. Magic was so different. It was so new. The draw wasn’t the loss of an extension of herself, as any rightful witch or wizard would feel without their tool. It was the gaining.

Trassia bit her lip. It was wrong. A dirty, forsaken nothing like her wasn’t deserving- wasn’t earning of it. Forbidden fruit always bit back. Beneath the sheets, her legs twisted in knots, hips and thighs tingling. Uneasy cold surged in warring climates beneath her chest cavity against the rising heat egging it on. That stick could do anything. She could do anything. A lesser man or woman could rob banks untouched. Murder victims could die in their beds without a mark. Factories could lay off hundreds of staff. Hospitals could be emptied overnight, emergency rooms utterly silent and boring. One trip to a children’s ward with the right magical medicines could save so many innocent lives. How much work would it really take to remove bone cancer from a child and send them home to their family?

All too easily she could move unchecked in a non-magical world. She could unlock her own door. How hard would it be to go out and find a quiet place behind some public restroom- where someone wasn’t selling drugs- and discreetly practice a few spells? If any aurors came by though, she would be dead.

That curiosity, it wasn’t right. It was wrong. It tasted so good to want. She had a private book full of spells to learn and a world unchecked to play in. How hard was it? Why was this so hard? A piece of her deep inside resisted.

She could use accio to get something from across a room. She could even get food or money without being detected if it was timed and angled right. Could alohomora unlock a bank vault? Could she repair broken televisions and old game consoles with repairo?

Off came the blanket. The young woman stood up straight. It was inches away. The flat of her open palm shadowed over the wand, so temptingly close. An accidental nudge or a cough would jostle her limb enough to accidentally make contact. That sweet, hot, static of _almost_ burned so softly in her hand, lighting every nerve up like lightning. Anticipation almost glowed under the skin. All she had to do was accidentally touch it. Just an accident. Maybe she moved and nudged it. Maybe it somehow fell and touched her skin, somehow. It made contact first. The earth moved, a passing lorry shook it over. Her hand hung overtop it, waiting, begging unspoken for the world to somehow conspire and reach out to her.

Soft lips hung open, drying out as her jaw went slack. That feeling of _almost_ felt so good. It just needed to somehow fall and touch her hand- provoke her first. It just had to. It needed to make her do it. _Please. Just… touch me. Brush my skin. Awaken me, please._

There was so much she could do. It was all right there. She could go anywhere, do anything. That hot, sweet sting in her palm cried out to meet its match.

Nothing moved. The world held its breath for nothing. Minutes passed, until Trassia sighed and ran her hands over her face. Sweat and magical static brushed across her skin with that left hand. There she stood, alone in her room, in her night attire, without a wand. It might as well have been a million miles away. This was the muggle world.

Trassia lied back down and groaned. Too many frustrations bottled up inside. The girl grabbed her pillow and wrapped her arms tight around it, hard to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this, and still reading, after all this time. I went through some very personal events, and as much as I tried to move past it, this still needed time. I had to push myself to keep going after my engagement fell through, since my ex was the one that dared me to start this story. Now I am stronger, and she cannot hurt or abuse me anymore. It is readers like you that make me want to keep writing. You can write all day, every day, and produce pieces of literature every day, but unless you have someone to actually look at it, it usually means almost nothing. That said, if you have any questions, feedback, or recommendations/requests, let me know. I want to take this story far. As it is, I already have plans for a following series. All the best, and thank you, everyone.


	12. Spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced to face her fears and go back to the wizarding world, Trassia puts her money where her mouth is- or vice-versa- and agrees to have a discussion with the ever-charming Eudora Skeeter.

Of all the ways a morning could have started, this wasn’t the best. Most people got up, went to the bathroom, hopefully brushed their teeth, and probably had breakfast. That was pretty much the plan. After rolling out of bed freshening up, it had been well under way.

Breakfast still happened. Skipping that wasn’t so healthy or conducive to productivity. Plus, mom cooked too well to pass up on that. It was the ringing of a distant phone that rocked the status quo. Trassia put her fork back on the plate and glanced around. That wasn’t the landline.

Mom quirked an eyebrow. ‘Honey, I think that’s for you.’ Her pointing finger directed the focus upstairs.

Her cellphone was ringing. Before pausing to think, she headed upstairs to go get it. Who would be calling her, though? Travis was asleep on the couch, mom and dad were home, so that was pretty much her entire contact list. Maybe it was work. Ron or George could need her in today, if that redhead girl was drunk on the job. That seemed likely. Would she go? Could she? Maybe Artie was right, she just needed to play it cool. Mom too, they both suggested she just keep going.

The phone on her nightstand was still ringing when she picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, is this Travis Noble?’, asked a voice. Something about it was mildly familiar.

There was no way she was giving names out to strangers. ‘Who is this?’, asked Trassia.

Feminine tones tried another approach. ‘Okay… am I talking to Trassia?’

Who was this person? ‘Who am I talking to?’, asked the owner of the phone.

‘Hi Trassia,’ said the woman. ‘This is Eudora. Is your cousin around? This is his phone, isn’t it? Or is it yours?’

A cold chill spread its wings deep beneath her ribs. She had just been made. This was it. _Run. Hang up. Lie._ All of those options seemed… inefficient. ‘Eudora? The journalist?’ Playing dumb was a good place to start. The shaking began to set in. This was bad.

She had to do something. Two, three, four, five seconds passed before Trassia un-muted herself. ‘It’s my phone. How did you get my number?’ Nerves rattled her voice like a marble in a can.

‘But the registry for the phone says it belongs to Travis Noble- your cousin, right? That’s who you told your employer he is.’

The stammering began. Trassia took a deep breath. This woman was scoping out her life story, now. _Talk. Say something._ ‘He, uh, gave it to me.’ _Steady._ ‘One sec, I just got out of the shower. I- I’m trying to get dressed. You called at a bad time.’

No apologies were offered. ‘Why didn’t you change the ownership?’

Arturos was right. It was none of this chick’s business whose phone it was. ‘I’ve had this phone for two weeks, lay off. Did- did- did you call just to interrogate me?’ That came off as more nervous than snippy.

‘Look, I’m just trying to ask your cousin some questions. Or you. Either/or, but I’m not letting go of this case.’

‘What case?’ Now it was time to turn the tables a little.

Eudora let out a resigned sigh. ‘I’m looking into the death of one of Rufus Mooney’s classmates, Amos Ashtongue. They were friends, yes?’

‘I- I don’t know, probably- maybe.’

Now the journalist cut to the chase. ‘Can we meet up somewhere and talk about this? It’s really important. I know everyone is spooked after the robbery in the Tartarus reserve, but it’s not like the city is on lockdown.’

Trassia paused at that. ‘The what?’

Ms. Skeeter shared without hesitation. ‘You don’t know? The biggest bank in the Night District was robbed two nights ago. It made headlines everywhere. If you’ve been out of town, I can tell you all about it, if you’re willing to meet up and talk. Information for information?’ The woman was persistent.

Curiosity was such a strong pull. This woman was toxic, though, and this was such a dangerous, stupid idea. ‘I was out, visiting my aunt and uncle. What kind of information do you want?’ This was moronic…

‘Anything you or Roger knows about Rufus Mooney and the Black Kandal raid on Hogwarts. Who was there, how they got in, what happened in your own words. If either of you knew Amos, I’d love to hear anything you have about him. I really want this story, okay? Let’s cooperate.’

What would this gain her to work with a reporter? Trassia bit her lip in thought. ‘If I do this, will you leave me alone? Is this all you want?’

‘I’ve been working on this story for years, Trassia. It’s been haunting me. I know Rufus Mooney isn’t the diamond in the rough people are making him out to be. He’s hurt a lot of people, and I want to expose him.’

Trassia shrugged at that. ‘Most people think he’s a jerk anyway. I mean, yeah, I guess he’s in the good books with Harry Potter, but all I ever heard was people saying how he’s out of control. I don’t see what the big story is.’

‘Murder, Trassia,’ said Eudora. ‘He’s not so innocent. Meet me at noon, I’d love to talk to you and Travis.’

That was more than slightly complicated. What kind of a sitcom washroom switcheroo would she have to pull off to achieve that three-sided meeting? What a silly concept. ‘Travis is in and out of town. I was told he was out on a road trip with some friends.’ That was what she’d said at work, right?

‘That’s fine, we can still talk. I’ll buy lunch. We can meet anywhere you like.’

Trassia played her last card that was immediately available. ‘You must be really desperate if you’re following me around.’ It was worth trying to fish some motives out of the woman.

‘Years, Trassia,’ reasserted the avid truth-seeker.

‘Will you leave me alone if I tell you what I know? I’m having a hard enough time fitting in without all my potential friends seeing me talking to reporters.’

Eudora seemed indifferent. ‘The truth will out. Either you find it, or it finds you.’

Another uncomfortably sinking type of feeling found its way into Trassia’s body. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ _Slow, deep breaths._

‘Rufus can’t hide behind his fame forever. Noon, okay? I’ll meet you at the train station if you’d like.’

Did she ever let up? The woman probably went to bed with a quill and notepad in her sticky little mitts. ‘I can get there myself, thanks.’ This woman was relentless. Maybe dealing with her directly was best. Maybe not, though.

‘Where should we meet?’ Eudora pressed the matter like a trash compactor.

‘If I feel like it… The Moonlight Garden Café.’ At least it was familiar territory.

Eudora laughed out loud over the phone. ‘That place? It’s embarrassing to be seen there.’

Now at last, there was a niche. ‘It’s that or nothing.’ With what little courage Trassia had accrued in that last moment, she hung up.

Then reality set in. She’d just agreed to see the journalist that all but profiled her as a changer. This was so incredibly stupid. At least there were other thoughts swirling around in that addled brain to entertain. There had been some kind of robbery somewhere, but why? Who stole what? What was the Tartarus Reserve, some kind of blood bank for vampires? Okay, so that was a silly pun. At least it almost put a smile on her troubled lips.

So this seemed definite. She could just not show up, but then Eudora would hunt her down again. The shaking was constant now.

What was she doing? This was so stupid. She’d agreed to have lunch with a journalist threatening her very existence… a cute one.

Now that was a bad thought. She was cute, though. Maybe there was a reason she kept hanging around some random, penniless girl. Trassia wasn’t famous or important. Eudora was persistent for one reason or another. Travis was mentioned a lot, maybe she liked that side of him.

There was no way the woman was interested, it was going to be all business. Trassia let out a nervous sigh and pocketed her phone. Breakfast was waiting, if she could eat. With her nerves, it was more likely that Arturos would have two meals.

Dad was up and awake by the time she headed back downstairs. The whole little family had already set in and started eating. Was it better to tell them or just go back later? There was no way she couldn’t tell them, though. Mom would know.

Here came more awkward discourse choked all the worse by crippling anxiety and a sporadic speech impediment. There was no place for her here anymore. Home was home, it always would be, but she couldn’t live here forever. Artie was right, the world was going to catch up with her eventually.

‘Um.’ Trassia started nice and strong. World leaders would have learned from her sterling icebreaker. ‘I… um. Okay.’ Now the whole room was staring. This was worse than the trans speech at fourteen. ‘Mom, dad… Artie. Um.’

Brown eyes _knew_. Jin-joo merely nodded.

‘What is it, sweetie?’, asked Roger, utterly and completely aloof. By now her tension was too normal to raise alarms. She was either diagnosed with cancer or asking to pass the salt.

‘It’s not really, I mean, it’s bad in a way. Not really. It is, but… I- I- I guess, uh… _gollundan_. Igd- ah, I mean.’

Arturos just sighed and kept on eating. ‘So are you going back to London or what?’

Her pause was a verbal chasm. It took a moment to leap it. ‘Uh… yeah. I have to. It’s the only place I can-’ finish this sentence. ‘-Uh… work and life. You know. I need to stand up and grow a spine.’

Mom was fine, but dad’s blue eyes weren’t as unburdened. ‘As long as you’re sure, Trav- _Tras_. We have your back.’

As for her cousin, the boy didn’t even pretend to understand. His face was full of food, that was good enough for him.

* * *

Once more, the train settled into the station at King’s Cross. Not much had changed in the few days she’d not graced its halls with her awkward presence. There were still lines, people, gargoyle security cameras, and, of course, magical trains, off to their weird and wonderful destinations.

Out in the city, nothing else had changed there either. It was still Magical London through and through. It was a little too familiar this time. Blue and gold adorned a nearby brick wall, colours affixed to another non-stranger of a sight. There was that electrified blonde hair, all a frazzle with curls and excited waves. The woman wore the same blue blouse, this time with a matching purse like something out of the roaring twenties. Cherry-topping the whole thing, Eudora had her tools of the trade at the ready, quill and notepad eager to listen.

There was no stopping this broad. Already the remainder of her brittle emotional stability began to swirl down the drain, settling into an entropy of fatigue. Those crazy blue burned like a solar flare.

‘Trassia!’, said Eudora cheerfully. ‘Wonderful to see you.’ She pranced up bold as brass and took stride alongside the beleaguered teen. ‘I know you said to wait, but I have an opening in my schedule and it has to be today. So how are you?’ Those oculars fixed on the girl like lasers.

‘Okay, I guess,’ replied Trassia. It was hard not to notice the subtle unease growing in the pit of her stomach. Manners had to be upheld. It was rude not to reciprocate. ‘How are you?’

‘Wonderful,’ Eudora said in turn, cutting her response time down to near instant. Her high-heeled strut was something off of a runway fashion debut. ‘I got leads. Even if nobody’s talking, I still have angles. I’ll make this story work.’ A hand suddenly reached into her purse and pulled out a paper. The backward snap of her hand sent the article careening into Trassia’s stomach. ‘I got you a copy of my latest on the robbery. You can read it later. Don’t worry, I’ll cover the basics when we’re at lunch.’

‘ _Easy, Lois, I barely got my cape and boots off._ ’ Trassia couldn’t resist a quick quip below her breath.

It wasn’t quite below enough for the roving reporter’s eager ears. Eudora cocked her head back like a confused pigeon. ‘Lois? Slip of the tongue?’ Her quill was eager to chicken-scratch.

Trassia shook her head. ‘No, it’s a- it’s… comics, you know.’ Nobody was laughing. ‘I’m a geek,’ she admitted.

It took the woman a minute to process. ‘Oh, comic books. Yes, the animated little cartoon things.’ She waved her quill around in small circles, visually demeaning the whole silly little concept. ‘I don’t work with those in the paper.’

The teen shrugged. ‘Maybe you should, they’re fun. Muggles do political cartoons, too, not just cartoon characters. It’s satire stuff, like poking fun at people in power or making light of corruption or world events. It’d probably work really well with your magazine. You have that kind of indie outsider vibe directed at the music crowd and the underground punk scene. It’d reach out really well. Look at some muggle stuff and you’ll see what I mean. It’s a really popular niche to get into, especially with all the young adults in the city.’

The hyperactive creature actually seemed to dwell on it for a moment. ‘Maybe I will. Do you live in the muggle world, Trassia? You mentioned taking residence with your aunt and uncle. I assume those are Travis’ parents?’

‘Yeah,’ Trassia said. It felt wrong, but it was close enough to being right. ‘I’m still trying to get on my feet.’

‘So why do you come to Magical London every day, if you live in Devon? Do you work here?’

There came those pressing questions again, as they meandered their way through town, down street after street. Eudora knew where she was going.

That in itself was lucky. As her host turned a corner, Trassia automatically wandered right on along across the street, having to pull a U-turn to keep up. Her brain was in automatic. ‘Uh, yeah. I-I have an apartment in town, but I just got a job here. I guess you know that already.’

Eudora smiled triumphantly, wiggling her torso back and forth a little. ‘Your coworker Ashe is very accommodating when she’s sober.’

It had to be said. She was in the belly of the beast, and the only way forward was down and out. ‘You’ve done a lot of homework on me.’ This really was bad. What was she doing here. Every nerve in Trassia’s body said to run. Unseen magnets pulled at her to veer off and away.

‘I like to know my sources, dear,’ said the enthusiastic investigator.

Like that was any comfort. ‘Okay.’

Eudora waved it off. ‘Oh relax, you’re fine. I just want to know about everyone’s favourite disciple of the great Harry Potter. “Orphan father, wayward son.” Do you know about the fight between Rufus Mooney and Albus Potter?’

Already that woman had begun and their destination was nowhere in sight. This was new, though. ‘No, I don’t,’ admitted Trassia, shaking her head to back up the claim.

The opportunity to do her job was too much to resist. The verbal dam that was Eudora’s mouth burst. It wasn’t all that well-guarded in the first place. Even before Rufus graduated, he got closer to Harry Potter. You may or may not know this. I choose to think you do. Anyhow, the year Black Kandal was reported to have returned, Rufus’ mother had to go into hiding, and Harry hosted Rufus over at his house in Godric’s Hollow. While he was there, he and Harry’s children obviously didn’t see eye to eye, but it seems that it came to blows one night at dinner. Nobody knows _why_ , but several eye witnesses in the neighbourhood reported seeing Rufus and Albus rush out the front door. It had been stated by one Antimony Harpsong that Rufus looked as though he had been struck, as if punched in the face.’ Eudora had to raise her eyebrows at this. ‘James, the oldest son, tried to hold Albus back, but it nearly ended up in a duel between Rufus and Albus. Curious, isn’t it? Harry’s children seem to hate the boy, I wonder why, when Harry seems so invested in Rufus.’ Those electric blues fixated on Trassia. If she stared any harder, the answers would melt out of the poor girl’s ears, along with her brain.

Some of this was news to Trassia. ‘There were rumours at school that he’d had a falling out with Harry Potter, but I didn’t know why. I mean, I remember hearing that when he came back from the break.’

‘ _But you heard._ What else did you hear?’ Eudora pressed on. Her quill was already moving.

‘Um… okay. I don’t want to get in trouble. I just hear a lot of things because I’m not important enough to be noticed. Uh… Rufus had a bad temper. I remember seeing him get into a couple fights with a Gryffindor boy called Marcus Castle.’

By now the two finally came to find their way to The Moonlight Garden. Its quaint little house exterior gave way to the usual four tables and counter. This time around, the walls were nebulas. Shooting stars whizzed about in the air like insects, seeking out new corners of the room to explore, where black holes are the light in the living wallpaper and distant stars blinked erratically in a rainbow of faint but distinct lights.

‘It’s so pretty,’ said Trassia, overcome.

Eudora shrugged. ‘It’s twee, but I suppose it’s cute if that’s the kind of thing you’re into. I prefer modern, myself. You can’t go wrong with evolution.’

Trassia took her usual place in the back-right corner. This place was rapidly growing on her, like moss. Moments later the owner arrived, carrying a fresh pot of tea. Constance had outdone herself this time. Her long, wild brown locks flowed out, defying gravity over a magnificent dress of ever-changing stars in an endless black sky. A green nebula exploded across her abdomen, turning into a cloud of blues that faded to purple, forming a many-armed spiral galaxy among the debris. Through her round spectacles, she eyed up the two customers.

‘Welcome. It’s wonderful to see you again, Trassia.’ Constance smiled wide. A teapot floated over to the counter by the command of the woman’s wand. Her shooting star earrings shone almost as bright as the purple crystal hanging from her neck.

Out of all the things to happen today, this was the one that felt right. Trassia smiled back. ‘Hi Constance, it’s good to see you too. How is everything today?’

The woman nodded. ‘Quiet but serene. I’ve been meditating in the back all day to centre myself. Here, I’ll turn up the music-’

A well-manicured hand was raised in protest. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather we have some quiet. I’m conducting an interview with Miss Barnes here.’ Eudora took a seat and drew out her effects from her bag, ready to begin. ‘Oh, I’ll be paying for our lunch, so bill me for the both of us, will you?’

Constance lifted a skeptical brow. Her smile weakened a little. ‘Absolutely. Can I bring you a menu?’

‘Small mocha latte and whatever you have that’s vegetarian friendly, please.’ Eudora then honed her focus on her young victim. In fact, she didn’t leave her sights from the girl for a moment, even to order.

The pressure to complete the transaction now fell on Trassia’s shoulders. ‘Um… okay.’ She turned to her dear hostess. ‘Do you have any special teas today? I’m fine with whatever you’d like to bring, you’re pretty good at guessing my tastes. And maybe a peach muffin?’ A sheepish shrug shrunk her up into a sitting ball, or would if she had space to curl her legs in.

Just for Trassia, Constance smiled again. ‘Of course, my dear. I have just the thing.’ Her expression slipped a little as she spared a glower in Eudora’s direction. Off she went.

‘Now,’ said the journalist avidly, ‘let’s get started.’

‘Okay.’ She’d bought her lunch, so some part of Trassia felt obligated now. ‘So I mean, what do you want to know?’

‘Everything,’ said Eudora with all the subtlety of a dump truck crashing through the window of a zen yoga studio. She leaned in, eager to listen. Her eyes didn’t even look at the notepad.

‘Okay. Um. Yeah.’ Where would she begin? Was this supposed to be scripted? Nothing was jumping out. On the walk there they’d been talking about something with Rufus, but now it was gone. The pressure had emptied her brain. ‘Wh- uh, do- do you have any questions?’

Eudora was unphased, thankfully, taking the lead. ‘When you were in Hogwarts, did you know Amos Ashtongue at all? He was a Hufflepuff like you, wasn’t he?’

Did she tell this woman what house she was in? If she did, she’d forgotten. ‘Um, I guess I talked to him once for a second, but not really. We never really talked, no.’

‘What did you talk about?’ That quill was already moving.

‘Nothing important, really. He said something about how it wasn’t fair that no girls liked him and I said I could relate. That was about it.’

Eudora watched like a statue. ‘Did he say anything else?’

Trassia shook her head. ‘Not to me. He talked around me, I guess. Uh… stuff like his plans to hang out with Rufus or why it was unfair that was poor. He liked to complain.’

It was noted. ‘What about his relationship with Rufus? What were these plans?’

The girl shrugged at this. ‘Uh, mostly stuff like them planning to sneak out or Amos would rant that Rufus was going too far or going to get him in trouble.’

Already the reporter was formulating. ‘It sounds like young Mr. Ashtongue wasn’t the most popular boy in school. Why did he associate with Rufus Mooney, a known troublemaker?’

_Ah,_ now there was familiar ground to find some footing on. ‘Well, Amos got bullied a lot, and so in our first year, Rufus rescued Amos from being bullied by Marcus and his friends. That was the popular Gryffindor guy. I guess Amos and Rufus just gravitated together and sort of clicked. Rufus stood up for him and Amos I guess tried to keep him in line, kind of like his moral conscience.’

Eudora tapped her cheek thoughtfully with her quill. ‘Would you say that Rufus was reckless? Irresponsible? Dangerous?’

It was easy to answer that. ‘Well, yeah. Of course. He never followed the rules. He pretty much started a lot of fights and snuck out all the time.’

She had more up her sleeve. Something was forming in Skeeter’s mind, deep between those mental cogwheels. ‘Was he overly emotional? Did he have a tendency to fly off the handle without warning? Was he easily offended without a due cause?’

Again Trassia shrugged. ‘I guess. You’re starting to make him sound like a sociopath.’

Eudora smiled. ‘I don’t like conjecture. Now, Amos and Rufus, you said they fought on rare occasions.’

This woman was coming to all the worst conclusions. ‘Um, maybe, yeah. I guess. They argued over a girl they both liked, but that’s just what guys do.’

‘Which girl?’

This felt wrong. If it got the lady off her back, though, maybe it was worth it. As long as she didn’t say anything leading or dangerous, it was all just schoolyard hearsay. ‘Um… Victoria Parker.’

Now the pen- _the quill_ scratched furiously. ‘Rufus’ current girlfriend? How interesting.’

_Oh no._ ‘Um, just don’t jump to conclusions, please-’

‘Please yourself, Trassia,’ snapped Skeeter sharply. ‘Journalistic integrity. It’s not just a term. It’s an oath.’

‘Sorry,’ replied the girl, sheepishly.

The infraction was immediately brushed aside. ‘Now, back to what’s important: Do you know what happened the night of the raid on Hogwarts by the Candlers? Were Rufus and Amos alone together at any point?’

Before another answer could be squeezed from the half-Korean girl, Constance returned with a couple plates and mugs. ‘Here we are,’ the woman stated calmly. ‘One medium mocha latte and some vegetable samosas. As for you, dear.’ She now turned to Trassia. ‘Astral Brew, the special of the day. Orange pekoe with a hint of blackcurrant. Careful, the weeping winter blossom in it can have a strong, murky front. I find it’s best for inspiration. A little bit of light in the darkness, finding your way through the clouds. Good to awaken the inner consciousness. And I also brought you a peach muffin, my dear, along with a few goodies. Dig in.’

Trassia did so. ‘Thank you so much.’

With one more sweet smile, Constance retreated into the back.

Eudora sipped her steaming hot beverage and took a bite of one of the samosas. ‘Passable. Now let’s continue.’

_Rude?_ ‘Um, excuse me? Constance worked hard on those.’

Eudora sighed. ‘And I said they’re fine. I’m used to coming to proper coffee shops and restaurants, where the staff don’t have a theme day like a child’s birthday party or try to tell you their life story when you’re trying to work.’

‘I like it here. Constance is nice.’ Trassia stood her ground- politely.

This time the journalist actually paid attention to the speaker, not just the words. ‘Alright then,’ suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘It’s not me you need to worry about offending.’

The… humility(?) didn’t last long. ‘Now, Amos and Rufus, where were they when the raid went down?’

‘Well, they were fighting a lot in the halls and Rufus duelled Black Kandal in the astronomy tower, but usually the three of them were together in that. Victoria Par-’

Eudora was too quick to interrupt. ‘Three? Oh, Parker. Go on.’

‘Victoria Parker, yeah.’ A nod confirmed this. Uh… I guess usually they were just in the main halls and stuff. I heard they went to go try and stop some of the Candlers from getting into a secret tunnel under the school at one point. That’s when Amos died.’

That pen was emitting vivid sound effects now. ‘This was not explained to me,’ said Skeeter. A note of irritation grazed her otherwise balanced voice.

‘It’s the only time I know they were alone. I think I remember hearing Victoria Parker asking what happened and crying, so maybe she wasn’t there in the room. I can’t be a hundred percent on that, though.’ Things like memory sometimes got a bit fuzzy.

Nothing was said. Eudora actually took her eyes off of her interrogation victim now to confirm her notes. This gave Trassia time to sip her tea and take a breath. Over on the wall, a bunch of stars formed into the shape of a lion. It let out a roar and bounded across the painted sky in pursuit of a passing meteor.

‘You’re sure this is true? You swear on it?’ Eudora looked her dead in the eyes.

‘Yeah, I swear,’ said Trassia. ‘What I remember is true.’ Maybe Rufus did kill Amos. He seemed so sincere though, and troubled. He was sad when it happened. ‘Uh, if it helps, I was there when they were all talking about it, when we were retreating. Rufus said he didn’t do it and they got attacked. I don’t know for sure what happened. They were like brothers.’

‘It’s at least a lead. I’ve wanted to talk to a witness of the raid ever since it happened. This is huge.’ Blonde hair bounced almost excitedly as Eudora talked.

Now felt like a good time to ask about recent events. ‘So what happened in the Dark District. Or… Night District. Whatever it is. I just know they have vampires there.’

Eudora smiled, hard and wry. Cold blue eyes levelled on the young woman. ‘You _can’t_ be that naïve.’

Was she? Did Trassia come off as an idiot? Skeeter probably thought she was now, all for not knowing about something like that. She was being made a fool of. _Naïve. Moronic._ Trassia bit her lip. ‘ _I mean, I pretty much never hear about anything outside of school, and nobody ever talks about the Night District, and I was out of town visiting my family, and-_ ’

‘No matter.’

‘-I also have a lot on my plate. I- I’m trying to keep up, but I live in the muggle world-’

A motion of a hand tried to silence the girl. ‘I don’t care. I’m here to learn and enlighten. That last article I wrote will tell you all about it. In the meantime, I’m glad to hear you’ve been reading our paper. If you have feedback, it means you put the time in to pay attention. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Trassia nibbled at her muffin.

For once, Eudora put down her quill. ‘Anyhow, now for an interlude. You want to know about the robbery. There’s a bank in the Night District called the Tartarus Reserve. It’s essentially their version of Gringotts, but with faith in the banks here being so low, some of the more interesting and valuable items are stashed away there, where you’d have to be suicidal to try and break in.’

‘I guess vampires are pretty dangerous,’ mused Trassia.

The journalist argued with a shake of her head. ‘Anyone can be dangerous. That bank is protected by an assortment of magical problems for any would-be trespasser, and on top of that, it’s not beholden to the mercy we play by. If you’re caught being stupid in there, it’s kill on sight. No second chances.’ It was good to see that mercy was alive and well. ‘Now anyway, two nights ago, someone led a task force of heavily-armed wizards into the bank. Surveillance gargoyles recorded them using dark magic and unknown items to pass security checks and break open doors sealed with powerful curses.’

Why did this sound familiar? It was time to play innocent again, but with an angle. ‘How would a bunch of humans break into there? If it’s guarded more heavily than Gringotts, how would anyone get in without permission?’

Eudora scratched a note out and made a revision. ‘I haven’t been able to see the evidence, but a couple vampires were talking and said it wasn’t all human. They had monsters with them that looked like stitched-together mounds of arms, legs, and faces.’

Maybe it wasn’t just a dream.

Trassia let out a faux-nervous chuckle. She was good at pretending to be nervous. She had too much experience with the real thing. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t have the entire city after them, looking like that.’

Eudora smiled and tapped her head with that quill. ‘Inattention cloaks. You wear one and nobody notices you unless they really want to. Gargoyles can’t be fooled, because they’re trained to look for that kind of thing, but normal people just feel a sudden uninterest in a certain person or place. Hogwarts uses a similar enchantment to keep muggles away. _In fact,_ you may not know, but the aurors use a similar tool to remain discreet when working with muggles. The funny thing is, they’re not supposed to be effective on magical people, so something has to have been done to those cloaks to make them fool wizards. And vampires? They need more trickery to dupe them, because they can sense your heat signature and heartbeat, as well as the presence of your mind. You can’t get by them, and these people did.’

It had to be asked. ‘Is it even safe here anymore?’

With all the callous apathy of a person across the world hearing bad news about a total stranger, Eudora shrugged it off, indifferent as the day was long. ‘No less than usual. Face it: If they’re this strong, then it doesn’t matter where we are or what we do. Just live your life and don’t cause undo fuss.’

‘Like the other night with that fight between Harry and Black Kandal.’

Eudora perked up. ‘Pardon?’

_Oops._ ‘Uh… the big panic in the streets? Everyone got possessed and vampires came out and cleaned it up?’

‘Yes yes, but you mentioned Harry Potter and Black Kandal?’ Once again the journalist leaned forward. Her vivid blue eyes were begging for a scoop.

Why not throw this in, too? Give the woman too much to think about. ‘Me and my roommate- uh- my roommate and I heard all the noise and went out to look, right? So we went out and there were weird balls of light falling from the sky.’

Eudora nodded. ‘Yes. I remember touching one and then I lost consciousness.’

_No names._ ‘Vaaa- very much sort of thing. Words. I- I just, words do this. I can’t-’

The woman rolled a hand, gesturing to carry on. ‘Get on with it.’

‘Okay.’ That was a close one. It was good to be able to induce that at will. Admittedly, it wasn’t like she needed to, since it happened on its own so often. ‘Well, my roommate saved me and said not to touch them- the spirit orb things. So we hid under a canopy and- oh, by the way, I saw you in the crowd that night, all zombified- and-’

‘Let’s forget that part and cut to the chase.’ Eudora’s flawlessly confident countenance had cracked a little.

Trassia repressed a subtle smirk. At least telling the reporter might yield some insight into the matter. ‘So we hid under a canopy and it was over on, uh… not Lockhart Plaza, it was over by… there was a little podium thing, and Rufus was just kind of floating on it like he was suspended in air. He was in this kind of forcefield. Anyway, I guess he wasn’t alone, because I saw harry duelling Professor Mantacora in there-’

‘Who?’ The woman shook her head a little, leaning in.

That was right, it wasn’t her real name. ‘Oh, um-’

Eudora cut that short. ‘Oh, right, yes. Lucrecia Mooney. Go on. So they were in a battle?’

‘Yeah. And then she- I mean profess- Lucrecia, she fired off a spell and it bounced everywhere and hit Rufus, and there was another explosion. I don’t know if you play video games or watch muggle movies or anything, but it’s like shooting a reactor core in an alien ship.’

The witch was lost here. That vacant stare was almost too perfect.

‘Okay, weird analogy. She hit Rufus with a spell and there was another energy pulse and it knocked them both over. So okay. _Man, I see some weird stuff._ But yeah, so then Lucrecia Mooney got up and I think she was about to kill Harry Potter. You know the killing curse? It’s green, right? She used that.’

Amid the sound of whizzing comets overhead and the tweets and calls of constellation creatures, the furious taking of notes never ceased. ‘Avada Kedavra, yes.’

‘So another guy apparated in on the scene at the last second and saved Harry. He held up like, some kind of animal and took the shot. Then he somehow fixed Rufus or saved him, I- I don’t know what. Then the forcefield went away and it turns out it was Black Kandal. He tried to do something to Harry when he was laying there but some people attacked him and he apparated out with Lucretia. I mean, attacked Black Kandal. Maybe- I, they could have been ministry agents. No, they were. Yeah. There was a girl with blue hair and a guy with a bowler hat and a moustache, and they helped Harry back up and grabbed his wand for him. Yeah… okay, cool. I remember.’

‘Anything else?’, enquired the woman. Energy practically vibrated her out of her seat. If Eudora could translate her rambling, she was welcome to it.

‘Uh… yeah, I guess. Then the vampires showed up and we got to talk to this guy called Corvatus. He seemed cool. He- he and his team said the white balls were energy from the spirits of the dead. Like… I guess that was coming out of Rufus Mooney, but I don’t know why.’

After recording it all and making several notes of her own, Eudora looked up at the girl. ‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, Trassia. The mark on Rufus Mooney’s arm is the Candle Curse. It’s unique because it literally burns the life force out of its victims. As the candle gets shorter, so does their life. The flame snuffs out when the victim dies. Rufus is famous because he survived the curse, and is still surviving. His candle isn’t going down at all, which is unheard of. He’s been in ministry care and put up in a big, protected house not just to save him from his father, but so wizards can research his candle curse and see if they can neutralise it on other victims. But maybe… just maybe the reason it’s not going down is because it’s absorbing the life force of people he killed- or people in general. He may be storing all of this death energy. Think about it: The spirit has to go somewhere, and if it’s being stored and burned up by his candle, then that’s why his isn’t going down at all. He’s got a repository to draw on.’

This was big. All of it was admittedly far above the station of some meaningless young woman nobody cared about, in a big, inhospitable world, where much more major players walked the chess board of life in massive strides that spanned mountains and oceans. Her tiptoes barely crossed the street. Still, this was too fascinating not to listen in on. It was all real-world events, and current. After all, she’d been in school with this guy, and here he was, making headlines every week. He was bigger news than Harry Potter.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ admitted Trassia, a bit of a lot of very much, definitely lost in the depths she was so far out of.

‘ _It means,_ ’ rebuked Eudora, ‘I’ve got a story.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write this with the idea that, in this world, Rufus Mooney and his exploits are "canon", so I treat him and his adventures as though everyone has read "his" books and is only seeing them here from an outsider's perspective. I have a rough outline of what events were like for him in Hogwarts, just so I can refer back to it and make references. Maybe one day it would be fun to write a series for Mooney, but that is a long time coming if I do. That said, if you like him and ever wanted to, I consider him open season to use in your own works. The same goes for other characters I create and add to this story. On a site like this, that is dedicated to expressive freedom, I am just happy to contribute.
> 
> Just message or comment me if you do so I can read it, hey?


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